


A king, a god, and a nonbeliever

by 1000lux



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: 5B AU, Aethelred can't catch a break, Backstory, Battle, Betrayal, Canon Compliant Homophobia, East Anglia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, I promise, Intrigue, Issues, Ivar and Magnus are both going hard for psycho of the year, M/M, Magnus gets actual character development, Manipulation, Politics, Scheming, Self-Doubt, Team England, The Settlement, Trust Issues, UST, War, being a king isn't easy, but this is ridiculously slow burn, everybody lies cheats and compromises, everyone gets their hearts broken, everyone knows how happy Ragnar and Athelstan are in heaven, graphic depictions of bloody faces, grudging allies to lovers, harald still isn't the best judge of character, heahmund has his own idea of what doing the right thing entails, lot's of religious talk, people being really self-righteous, plot heavy, semi canon compliant, semi-historical OC, some sex scenes, still there's a happy ending, vocation isn't that much fun either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-05-07 19:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 89,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19216075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000lux/pseuds/1000lux
Summary: Bjorn looks at where they are now, still the same battle it had been years earlier. He thinks of the people who are gone, but who are still there.In Aethelred's shadow he sees Aethelwulf and no place for them in this land.In Alfred's shadow he thinks he sees Athelstan, but maybe it's Ecbert.In Magnus' shadow he sees neither Kwentrith nor Ragnar, but maybe he's not looking close enough.In Ivar's shadow there's Floki grinning at him, promising flames and destruction.He doesn't know what he sees in Heahmund's shadow, but it's not his god.And in his own? Bjorn would like to see his father there. But he doubts it.So far it's his mother's shadow in which he follows.Or: The complete 5B AU





	1. Family ties

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own rights to the tv show or it's characters.
> 
> Soooo... for everyone who's been wondering why there's not new chapter to 'Two monks', this is the reason. This monster of a story has kept me busy the last half year.^^°
> 
> Many many thanks to seamayweed for letting me rant and fret about this story, and for reading over all those bits and pieces I was conflicted about!!! <3 <3 <3
> 
> This story is basically a complete rewrite of 5B, based on the fact that the only part of the storyline I enjoyed was actually the part in England, up to the point where Alfred cut his hair, Judith killed Aethelred, Magnus lost every pretense that he was going to be interesting, and Heahmund died calling Lagertha's name.
> 
> And don't worry, this time it's not a WIP. I've already finished all chapters and simply need to proof-read them once more.

 

==========================================

 

Just because we check our guns at the door  
Doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades  
You're loving on the psychopath sitting next to you  
Your loving on the murderer sitting next to you  
You'll think how'd I get here, sitting next to you?

(Twenty One Pilots - Heathens)

***

KATTEGAT

Of course, the priest. The priest, who else could have done the impossible and spirit Bjorn and Lagertha away, when their doom had already been written and signed by fate herself? Who else could have done that?

Even when anger and disappointment were eating on him, Ivar could not help but smile into the round. "I think we've just seen a miracle performed."

"What's a miracle?" Harald asked.

*  
WESSEX

Alfred looked at this incomplete set of chess in front of him. A queen, two knights and a bishop.

Given what he knew of Heahmund's relations to Lagertha, he had to wonder though, if it was a King's bishop or a Queen's bishop, who'd been returned to him.

*

"We have to rely on a guy who looks like a girl and probably can't even fight." Bjorn said with contempt.

Two boy kings, one English, one Viking. But where Ivar, the cripple, exuded danger and capability, Alfred looked like a boy wearing the robes of a man. Ivar was a warrior, despite his affliction. Bjorn didn't know what exactly Alfred was.

*

"Brother," Alfred said. "You must stand by me, even now. Especially now."

"I do, I always have." Aethelred replied. "But what are you doing, Alfred?"

"What I have to. I have so few allies right now."

"And you'll have even less."

"Will that include you?"

"How can you ask that? I've forfeited my birthright for you."

Alfred turned somber. "You did. I know. I know what that cost you. Mother has put a large burden on both our backs. Why did you agree? For love of her, for love of me? Or because you actually believe in me?"

Aethelred was quiet, let out an exasperated huff of breath. "All of that."

"Brother, you spoke for me. You believed in me before I ever dared to believe in myself. I do now. I do believe that I have what it takes to save us all from this grave threat. Don't stop believing in me now."

*

Alfred and his mother and brother were waiting in one of their private rooms, when Heahmund arrived. It was a neatly crafted scene, the seemingly relaxed atmosphere, with a fire crackling in the fireplace, when really every piece was arranged to present a certain picture.

"Now, Lord Heahmund. What can you tell us about our newly aquired allies?" Alfred started. He was sitting in an armchair by the table, a glass of wine in his hand. His mother sat closer by the fire, for all thoughts and purposes occupied by some needlework, which of course was a mere prop. Aethelred was the only one standing, of the three, further back by the window, half turned away. "I wish to know what I'm dealing with."

Judith spoke up now, measured and clearcut. "Their believes, their passions, their resentments."

"Ubbe hasn't shown any clear allegiance or ambition." Heahmund answered. "He's an opportunist. You'll find him easy to handle. Torvi you can disregard entirely. Lagertha has worked with Ecbert in the past, as you know."

"Yes." Alfred agreed patiently. "I know. I wish you to tell me things I don't know."

"She's not the woman she was back then. Just like Ragnar before his death, she's lost her bite. Which might work in your favor, as I belief she's no longer keen on raiding. Her knowledge about warfare will be of much use to you, though."

"What have you picked up about their warfare, bishop?" Aethelred spoke up for the first time.

"Nothing we didn't know yet, my lord. My learnings about the heathens were more of a philosophical nature. Although, that too could come in handy, as war for the Northmen is very much a spiritual matter."

"What about Bjorn Ironside?" Alfred asked.

Heahmund was quiet for a contemplative moment. "He's difficult. He's not like either Ragnar or Lagertha. He's simply a warrior. But very much atuned to his believes. Very proud. And he has much clout with his people. He's simply not king because he didn't want to be. He probably wouldn't be a very good one." he added in afterthought. "He's the most likely to turn from this here arrangment. If he'd find a chance for save passage, he'd return to his people."

"I hear it were the Frankians who came to Ivar's aid and defeated Lagertha." Alfred now said, a question in the statement.

"Yes, my lord. Which is strange, because from what I overheard, Rollo is still in love with Lagertha and was closer to Bjorn than to Ragnar's other children. One would imagine that if at all, he'd come to Lagertha's aid."

"Strange indeed. A lover churned, maybe. We must keep an eye on movements of the Frankian army. Very well." Alfred concluded. "You've been most helpful. And we are relieved to have your mind and sword once more on our side."

"Sire." Heahmund bowed. "You and your brother fought bravely at York already, and I'm proud to serve now under another great king."

*

He'd stood up to them. Bjorn had to give him that. The wimpish English king, who was nothing like Ecbert and nothing like Aethelwulf. He wasn't cowed by him and Ubbe, everytime they'd pushed, he'd pushed back. He didn't treat them like mindless beasts either, like many of the English would have liked to think of them as, no matter how scared they were at the same time.

He was much more like Ecbert in that, than like his father. Aethelwulf hadn't been a man you could reason with. But being like Ecbert also made Alfred dangerous, for Ecbert had been a cunning man, full of lies.

But there was something about Alfred... Much more than of his detested grandfather, Alfred reminded Bjorn of someone else. For no good reason. Maybe it was his deceptively soft nature that still habored so much strength (For he had to be strong, especially given how weak he seemed, keeping all those wolves at his court in check). Alfred reminded him of Athelstan. Wasn't that curious? He hadn't thought of Athelstan in a long time. And now... now he missed him, like he missed his father and his sister.

And then, of course, there was the man who claimed to be his brother. Bjorn tried to see Kwentrith's insanity in Magnus. He couldn't, truly. Nor could he see his father. Magnus was a stranger.

*

"Queen Lagertha," Alfred greeted her as she entered his chamber, where he was sitting at a table that was set for two.

"I'm no queen anymore." she said.

"In our country, having to flee from your lands doesn't make you less of one. Sit, please. I would have us talk."

Lagertha, the infamous warrior queen of the Northmen. The woman his grandfather had spoken of with the greatest respect. Unlike the headstrong sons of Ragnar, she could be a strong ally, had she after all fought and ruled successfully for many years.

"What is it you would have us talk of, King Alfred?" Lagertha asked, pensively turning a grape between her fingers, as she regarded the young king with deep scrutiny.

"I wish to get to know you." he said.

"So you can decide whether to trust me." she concluded with a slight knowing smile.

"Yes. That too. And maybe you'd like that too. Unless you've already formed an opinion of me."

*

Aethelred was opposed to his pact with the Northmen, when Alfred himself knew he was moving on thin ice, there. He didn't trust them. How could he, when he'd only just met them? Because they were Ragnar's sons and he Athelstan's? Maybe if their fathers were still alive, it would have made a difference. Like this, he doubted it would.

And as if his problems hadn't been enough already, his mother's decision to make Cuthred bishop had consequences no one could have foreseen. Alfred had seen Aethelfled and her mother leave court, dressed in mourning. Oh, Aethelred had raged and cursed when Alfred had restored Heahmund, but he had not once blamed him for the more personal loss he'd suffered through it.

*

"My lord Alfred." Heahmund said. "I need you to trust me. What can I do to regain your trust?"

"Oh, I do trust you, Heahmund. Unlike certain subjects at court, I've never entertained the notion that you'd lost your faith among the heathens. What you did in the church, it wasn't so out of character that I couldn't reconcile it with what I know of you. I need you to lead in battle, Bishop. Not in prayer. I have no doubt that you'll fulfill your role as you've always done."

*

Once more, Alfred had to think of the similarities between Heahmund and Athelstan. And in the wake of the last events, he had to wonder if Heahmund hadn't returned quite as unchanged as he claimed. What had people seen when Athelstan had returned? A heretic, a traitor? What had they seen in him when he'd left again? Alfred knew how his mother and Ecbert felt about Athelstan. He wasn't sure though how he felt himself.

It was impossible for Alfred not to know Athelstan, his father. When even in death he'd never lost his hold on Ecbert and his mother, and the great Viking king, for what his grandfather had told him.

Alfred didn't descend from one of the greatest kings Wessex had ever had, like his brother. He descended from a farm boy who'd escaped the plague to a monastery. He still vividly recalled his visit to Lindisfarne. How far his father had come from that, to a man who'd had his hand in shaping all their futures. And Athelstan had certainly shaped his own destiny, more freely than most were ever able to.

He had to think of Bishop Heahmund, another priest robbed by the Northmen. Both Athelstan and Heahmund had managed to make the Vikings return them to the English shore, each in their own way.

Whatever could have caused his father to return with the heathens? Even years later, there had still been pain in his grandfather's voice when he relayed how Athelstan had left him then first and the second time. All for a legendary Viking leader who'd died in a snake pit, believing in nothing any longer. And neither had his grandfather, in the end, even though Ecbert had had very little faith to begin with, had always more fashioned himself after the old Roman emperors than anything else. It did not go well together with piousness. So Alfred himself, despite having traveled to Rome as merely a child, had already grown up a cynic more than anything else. So maybe his judgement of Heahmund was less harsh than that of his brother. For where his brother saw faith, Alfred saw darkness and ignorance. His grandfather had taught him that religion was a tool, not different than politics. Knowledge, that was the only true religion. And he thought, from the stories he'd heard, Ragnar and Athelstan had adhered to the same religion.

Back then, as children, when no one could have yet known that Ivar and him would be kings one day (except maybe Ragnar and Ecbert), it had seemed possible that there could be friendship between them as there had been between Ecbert and Ragnar. But what friendship was it supposed to have been? What good was respect when you still betrayed each other? From the conversations he'd had with the bishop since his return, Alfred had learned too, that the other had respect for Ivar, more respect than Alfred had ever known the other man to have for anyone. And yet, Heahmund too had betrayed Ivar. And while most would say that there could have been no trust between them, Alfred as Athelstan's son had really no basis to deny that there had been a choice. A monk from Lindisfarne, the Bishop of Sherborne. A legendary Viking king who hadn't been legendary back then, his crippled son who was on the best way to becoming as legendary as his father. And Alfred, son by law to a king of England, protege to one of the greatest king's Wessex had ever had, son by blood to a man who'd chosen the Northmen. Where did he fit in, in this story? Where did the first wife of Ragnar and his sons fit in? It were fast and ever-changing times they lived in.

*

"My lady." Heahmund bowed deeply. He knew not why Judith had summoned him to her rooms.

There she sat, her hair done up to show her scar, as it had always been since her son had become king. There was a gripping, commanding force in her face that seemed too soft for anything but gentleness. "Heahmund, I do not care whether you're a man of the church, I just need you to be a man of Alfred."

"I am. You know that. I was loyal to Aethelwulf, I'll be loyal to Alfred."

She nodded, gravely, consideringly. It seemed she had not called him to talk, simply to assess him in private, whatever she saw, though, he could not begin to guess.

Then, as he already thought the audience was over, she spoke again, "Bishop, before you go. Athelstan, the man I broke my marriage vows for, the man who returned to the Northmen of his own choosing. He was the holiest man I ever knew."

Was it implicit endorsement of him? Heahmund did not know. He did not know if he wanted comfort or validation from this woman.

*

Lagertha, the woman the former bishop had brought into these lands. Aethelred saw her fighting in the courtyard, as no woman was supposed to. With more prowess than he could claim for most his soldiers and knights. Maybe that was why the bishop lay with her. He'd always followed the call of the blade more eagerly even than that of the flesh.

And Aethelred knew well what went on between those two. Had heard it from his fiancee, who'd left him after her father's death. And could he blame her? He hadn't told Alfred. What use would it be? Alfred had not cared for the murder of the bishop, he would not care for any lesser sin the rogue priest committed.

Lagertha, she had a strange lure on men. His grandfather had lain with her, years ago, when she'd first come to his court. It was inexplicable to him, how his grandfather could have done such a thing. But then, he'd never been one to stick to rules. He'd loved to do the unexpected. He'd loved Ragnar too. Aethelred knew that, they'd all witnessed how Ragnar's death had undone him. No one in his family seemed to want to stick to any rules God and society had placed upon them. His mother, after all, had slept with the monk Athelstan, who had been an apostate, who'd returned to the Northmen of his own free choosing. His mother and Ecbert had both loved Athelstan. And his father? Could he truly be blamed that he'd shared the bed of the murderous Queen Kwentrith, after he'd been cuckolded first by Athelstan and then by his own father?

Yes, Ecbert had slept with both Lagertha and with Judith. It was hard for Aethelred to see any similarities between the heathen woman and his own mother.

Ecbert had always looked down on him and his father, because of their piousness and morals. As if they were something bad. Had mocked them without truly saying so. As if it was wrong to adhere to the Lord's commandments. To be faithful and truthful. But, truly, his mother had broken her sacred marriage vows, and still... Aethelred loved her, had always loved her, how little affection he'd received in return. His father had been in his right with what he'd done to her, and yet, Aethelred could not condone it. It did not make him love his father less, either, the only person beside his brother who'd ever loved him back.

Oh yes, his little brother. Half-brother, something he'd always been acutely aware of, even though he'd never felt it. If at all one could have thought that Aethelred himself was the bastard of the two of them. Still, he'd loved Alfred, they loved each other. They'd always been close growing up, despite Alfred always being favored by both Ecbert and his mother. Even this harsh harsh blow, the loss Aethelred had taken at his mother's words, they could do nothing to destroy that love. Even now when Alfred had denied him, would not listen to him, even now he loved his brother with all his heart.

When Ecbert had still been alive, Aethelred had always seen a deep weariness in his father's eyes. A weariness at being deceived for so many years, a weariness at all the lies Ecbert told him and could not see that Aethelwulf was well able to see through his father's empty words, a weariness at never being good enough, of having danced too long in the limbo of thinking the other's words of love were a lie but never being quite sure. The weariness came from hanging on to a thread of hope that was too thin to truly hold on to. Aethelred felt that same weariness now. He felt it through his mother acutely. He hoped he'd never see the day where it would be his brother causing this kind of pain in him.

His father had trained him for kingship, and he himself had believed he would be king one day. When he should have known better, when his grandfather had never left any doubt as to who he wanted to see on the throne.

He'd been better able to stomach the dismissal when he'd still thought he would be king. It had seemed impossible that he could be replaced. And, in the end, all it had needed were a few words from his mother. Now, with all his purpose lost, he felt his walls cave in under his mother's shallow assurances of affection when she only had eyes for Alfred. Each time his little brother turned away his expertise felt like a blow. His brother would listen to heathen Northmen and a murderous priest who was little better than a heathen, but he wouldn't listen to his own brother.

He was ripped from his reverie when another fighter joined Lagertha's sparring. Her son was a menace. Towering over all of them, unsocial and full of strange antics. He was imposing just standing there. Even more so when he fought. Aethelred had heard of the berserkers. He imagined that this must be what they were like. He'd seen Bjorn Ironside before. When he'd been with the Great Heathen Army. He'd never imagined they'd ever be on the same side. He was sure it was a mistake his brother was making. But the last decision Aethelred had been able to make had been the day when he'd declined the crown. Now all he could do was warn just to be dismissed.

*

"My lord Aethelred." the count said. "You should not let your brother treat you like that. It's unbecoming."

"What is unbecoming, Count Cuthbert, is you deeming your judgement superior to that of your king."

*

"Tell me of my father, Bjorn." Magnus said. "I've only met him once. Shortly before his death."

"What do you want to know?" Bjorn asked. "I'm sure you've heard all the stories."

"Tell me something they don't tell stories about."

"He was just a man. Just braver and more curious and smarter than most. He took what was there waiting, what no one else had tried before him. But he wasn't looking for power. Not at all." Bjorn's gaze went wistful, not even looking at Magnus anymore.

"Well, he was certainly good at finding power, for someone who wasn't looking for it." Magnus gave a quick grin.

"Yes. Yes, he was. Better than the rest of us, that's for sure."

"What's your ambition, Bjorn Ironside?"

"Mine?" Bjorn raised an eyebrow. "Staying alive, for starters."

Magnus tilted his head. He pointed at the Royal Villa. "You know it's chaos in there, don't you? Alfred's weak and universally unloved, however Judith got him on the throne in the first place."

"Who's going to be king after Alfred?" Bjorn asked with a mild degree of worry.

"Aethelred. His older brother."

"But he declined the crown, as I heard."

"Sure. Doesn't mean the nobles will just accept that."

"Well, then let's hope Alfred doesn't lose his crown, I doubt his brother would be as hospitable."

"No," Magnus agreed. "I doubt he would. He's Aethelwulf's son indeed."

*

"He is not our brother, Bjorn." Ubbe exclaimed angrily. "Father, our father, said so himself! He never acknowledged him! He is just some bastard Kwentrith had with whomever!"

"Possibly." Bjorn shrugged, unimpressed. "Maybe. Maybe not. Ecbert seemed to believe Kwentrith. Our father was not in the habit of being faithful to his wives. And Aslaug was always jealous. So, if Ragnar said he hadn't slept with Kwentrith..." Bjorn wiggled his head, lips pursed. "I don't exactly believe him. She was beautiful. And dangerous. Our father liked that, you know that."

"Be that as it may." Ubbe conceded annoyed. "Who says he even is Magnus? Who says Magnus is still alive? Maybe Ecbert killed him."

"Sometimes you have to go with your gut, brother. Hm?" Bjorn explained good-naturedly. "I don't say I trust him. But I'm willing to give it a shot. He could be our brother. And that alone makes it worth it to put in an effort. Wouldn't you say so?" Bjorn let out a small chuckle now. "He had enough guts to claim to be a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. That alone already makes his claim quite probable."

*

"I think Ivar's going to stay in Kattegat." Bjorn said. "For a while at least."

"No." Heahmund shook his head. "He's going to come here. We have to be ready."

"Why?" Bjorn looked at him irritated. "He's just become king of Kattegat. Do you not imagine he wants to celebrate his success for a while?"

"No." Heahmund stated more insistently. "He will come after us. I'm certain."

"Yes, at some point but–"

"You don't know him the way I do." Heahmund replied without thinking.

"I'm his brother!" Bjorn said incredulously.

"If he comes, we'll know." Alfred appeased. "Meanwhile we have to get ready for any kind of Northener threat. No matter which banner."

*

Bjorn sat sullenly in front of the church, where right now his brother was attending Mass together with the king. "Are you not going to join them?" he asked now, when Magnus sat down beside him.

"Oh, no. I told you, I'm no Christian."

"Then you believe in nothing. For you don't know our gods."

"I believe in a lot of things." the other said, smiling. "I believed that I would meet you, my brothers, some day. That I would have a family."

*

After Mass, Bjorn stopped Ubbe, anger simmering in his bones. "Given how quickly you abandoned our gods, I'm wondering if it isn't you who isn't Ragnar's son. We descend from Odin. Have you forgotten that?"

Ubbe scoffed. "Do you truly believe that? Ragnar was just a man. Isn't that what you always say?"

Bjorn kicked up dirt from the ground, letting out a growl. Then he stomped away from his brother.

*

Bjorn was sitting alone in Alfred's private library, leaving through the books he could not read, only barely withstanding the urge to rip them apart.

He looked up as he heard a noise. It was Judith. She kept walking towards him, as if it had been indeed him she'd been looking for. She stopped right in front of him. She wasn't intimidated by him or intrigued, like most women at this court. She was a queen, like his mother.

"You do not like my son."

Bjorn shrugged. "I didn't say that."

"But I can tell. You do not respect him. You think him weak. But I need you to give up on those thoughts, because you will have to fight for him."

"I am fighting for him."

"Would you die for him?" she leaned in close, closer than most people dared to go, her face hard.

"I'm always ready to die when I fight." Bjorn said with a cocksure smirk, moving his face closer as well.

"I knew Athelstan, did you know that?"

Bjorn's smirk dropped as he looked at her in surprise.

"It was in the first years of my marriage to Aethelwulf. While he was staying here the second time, before he followed Ragnar back to your lands, once more. I never knew what became of him. Only that he died later."

"He was murdered." Bjorn agreed. "By a friend of my father."

He saw the pain in her face, even after all those years. She'd loved him. "Why?"

"Jealousy."

"Athelstan told me about you." she then said. "About you and your sister. He loved you dearly. Did you love him?"

"I did."

"So did I. So did your father. And King Ecbert. Their last conversation, did you know, it was about Athelstan."

Bjorn was put off kilter by this whole conversation. He did not know where it was going. He'd found Christian women either cowed or aloof, but always easily predictable. She wasn't.

"Did you notice," she continued with that regal voice that commanded Bjorn's attention. "The cross around my son's neck?"

Bjorn hadn't, not consciously. But he did now, when he thought back.

"It was given to him by Ragnar." she spoke what Bjorn had already realised now. "It belonged to Athelstan."

He knew it to be true. How could he have possibly forgotten the necklace his father had worn for years after the death of the priest?

"Do you know why that is?" she asked. And it felt more and more like he already knew the answers to her questions.

He shook his head.

"Alfred is Athelstan's son." There was no shame in her eyes, at the admission that he knew was a sin in the eyes of these Christian people.

He was still mulling over this truth in his head, that realisation. "Why is he on your throne then?"

She smiled, a private smile as if on a memory. Of the dead king he realised. "Because Ecbert loved Athelstan too."

The priest. Bjorn shook his head. He hadn't expected that. The priest's death had destroyed his father. He'd been such an irrevocable part of all their lives for so long. Bjorn had missed him too, even if he never said so. But Athelstan had been part of his family. He smiled to himself, unable not to, at the fact that there was something left of the priest in this world, after all. An English king. There'd always been more to the priest than most people saw. Ragnar had seen it. And his father had most times been right.

"It looks," Bjorn said. "Like your god loved Athelstan, just like our gods loved my father."

Judith nodded at that. "You do not care about our god. You do not care about our people. But you cared about your father's wishes and you cared about Athelstan. Alfred thinks Ubbe is the closest to Ragnar of all his sons, but I know it for a fact to be you. You were there from the beginning, you know what Ragnar was trying to build. And no matter how you deny it, if you look into your heart, you know it to be true that your father stopped believing in your gods, because you know your father better than all of them. So, will you fight to make Ragnar's dream come true? Will you protect Athelstan's son?" She smiled, knowing her victory.

Bjorn nodded before he'd even decided to. He knew that woman to speak the truth. Every word she'd said. "I will."

"Good."

"You took a big risk, telling me that."

Her smile did not falter. "Everyone knows. It was all God's plan." But there was something dark and sardonic about it, now. It reminded him of Ivar, for a moment.

Bjorn chuckled. "How fortunate."

*

Bjorn circled the new king of Wessex, who regarded him unimpressed, expectantly, despite Bjorn being about two heads taller than him. "You are Athelstan's son." Bjorn then said.

"I know." the other replied, not betraying surprise about Bjorn knowing.

"He came as a prisoner to us, and came to love us. Now we're here. Fugitives. At your mercy." Bjorn snorted. "Maybe we'll come to love you too."

"I would want us to be friends. It would be better for all of us if we were."

"I'll never abandon my gods."

"That's for you to decide only."

"That's not what you told Ubbe."

"I did. I merely appealed to him to consider the benefit it had to us all."

"Would you do the same? Were our roles reversed. Would you abandon your god?" Bjorn's voice took a mocking tilt, "For the greater good."

"I heard Athelstan did. At least outwardly."

Bjorn grimaced. "Not for long. It's what killed him in the end."

"Was it? I never heard. Only that my grandfather had a vision of him and knew him to be dead. It took years until he met Ragnar again and could ask. I do not know what it was exactly they talked about, in these last hours with your father, but it was about Athelstan."

"My father had a vision too. Of Athelstan. After his death. It's what made him spare his murderer."

"How strange." Alfred mused. "When we'd like to consider ourselves creatures of reason, there are so many things we don't understand."

"You look like him, you know. I couldn't quite put my finger to it before."

"Do I? I wouldn't know. I wasn't even born when he left."

"Your mother is a brave woman." Bjorn said all of a sudden.

"I know."

"She is Viking, in her heart."

"Thank you."

Bjorn smirked. "At least you know it to be a compliment."

"I know at least that." Aflred smiled ruefully. "I know so very little about my father."

"Has your mother not told you, or Ecbert?"

"How well could they have truly known him, when they never knew such a large portion of his life? Your father knew him. I met him once. He gave me this cross, which had been given to Athelstan before by Ecbert. But, I was too young and there was too little time. I did not dare ask, then, all I would have liked to know. I will never know what made my father abandon his home and choose to return to your people. I can only believe that he was a good man and that he found in you something he could love, something he could call home and family. And so, how could I dismiss you, Bjorn, and your people?"

"What would you like to know?"

Alfred smiled. "Everything."

"He once saved my father's life, when he was still a slave. He dove after him into a lake and prevented him from drowning. He was never sure of his place. He tried to adapt, yet he never truly did. The other priest, Heahmund, he didn't even try, while he was with us. And yet he was better fitted to our ways than Athelstan ever was. Yes, he chose us. But it was for love of my father, more than anything. He doubted. Before his death, he'd found back to your god. He threw away the sacred armring my father had given him, which he'd worn for years. He wanted to return to England, but he didn't, for my father. And it cost him his life. A cross and a sacred armring, just like my brother Ubbe now. It does no one any good to be torn between two beliefs. My father told me, Athelstan once said, to him they were both real. Your god and ours the same."

"And your father lost faith in all of them, in the end. Ultimately, no one knows what's in our hearts. In our hearts there is always doubt and struggle, for everyone."

"Yes. That is true. It was more true for Athelstan, than for most. My father said it made him stronger than all the others, even if they did not see it, that he dared to doubt. You remind me of him. I'm glad I know now. Your father raised me. I hated him, I thought him weak, too, at first. And then I loved him. Maybe I can come to love you too."

"You killed my grandfather. I loved him dearly, he was like a father to me. But I don't hold any grudges, it was bound to happen, he knew that. And a king can not hold grudges. And you don't believe me, but I will give you that land. Once I know I can trust you. And once my position is secure enough that I can actually make sure you keep it this time." Alfred's face turned softer, for a moment. "And all my duties as a king aside, you have done me an indescribable service, today, telling me this."

"My father would have wanted you to know, so would have Athelstan." Bjorn nodded. "He was family. That makes you family too. Maybe there was a reason we have come here."

*

Alone for that knowledge, Alfred could not have turned them away. Lagertha and Bjorn were the only other Vikings, beside Ragnar, of whom he knew they'd been close to Athelstan. How could he say no to that part of his past that had always been closed off to him? Alfred knew who he was, but who his father had been, that he didn't know, not really. Now, though, he felt like he might be getting a better grasp of it. The irrefutable grasp the Northmen had had on Athelstan, the claim they'd staked on his soul. The decisions his father had made that Alfred had never truly understood. Ragnar and Athelstan had permeated all of Alfred's childhood and adolescence. The two had always been there. He could see them in Ecbert's eyes, in his mother's eyes. A story that had been told to him so many times and yet had never truly been told to him. Now the people were here, the people who had been there, who had lived that story. Lagertha and Bjorn were as close to Athelstan as Alfred would ever come, in this life. Ecbert and Judith had been there when the decision had been made, but Lagertha and Bjorn had witnessed what had led to that decision. They had seen how a man made a prisoner and a slave could turn into someone who renounced his home and vocation and chose a path that was entirely alien to anyone from his own world.

"I wonder, brother, you know I do." Alfred said. "I always wondered."

"I know." Aethelred said, face in a humoring scowl. "Of course you would. And no one says Ragnar wasn't a great king and certainly a charismatic leader in his lifetime. He was a legend. But his sons aren't. They can't be reasoned with, they can't be trusted. An alliance with them won't bring us half the benefit Ecbert's dealings with Ragnar brought us back then. You're not Athelstan, little brother. You're the king of Wessex."

"I know." Alfred nodded. "I know. But have you never wondered?"

Aethelred shook his head, stern-eyed. "It's not part of my history, it's part of yours."

"Our mother–"

"Our mother was infatuated with a Christian monk, not with a heathen. Athelstan was English, not Viking. You are English, not Viking." His stern gaze softened again. "Keep these curiosities at court for as long as you need. But don't familiarize with them."

"Oh brother, you know well my intentions with them go further than sating mere curiosity."

*  
KATTEGAT

"I'm going to raid in England." King Harald said.

"Well, that fits perfectly," Ivar smiled. "So am I."


	2. Brothers, mothers, diplomacy, and more bishops

Lies on the lips of a priest  
Thanksgiving disguised as a feast

I'm wondering if a thug's prayers reach  
Is pious pious, cause God loves pious?  
Socrates asks: Whose bias do y'all seek?

What's a king to a god?  
What's a god to a non-believer  
Who don't believe in anything

(No Church in the Wild - Kanye West)

***

YORK

"Earl Olafsonn!" Ivar greeted the man he'd left in charge of York. "Well met!"

"King Ivar!" Olafsonn welcomed him. "Things have changed here indeed. You must meet my wife Gunnhild." 

A tall blond woman with a large scar on the right side of her face stepped forward.

"My wife is a famous shieldmaiden." Olafsonn explained with pride.

"I've heard many tales of you, King Ivar. And of the other sons of Ragnar Lothbrok." she said, smiling. "And about you of course, King Harald."

*  
WESSEX

Alfred looked up from his scrolls.

"Ivar is here." Bjorn stated.

"He's come to raid." Alfred stated darkly. "So we must fight. Are you ready to fight your brother?"

"I'm here because I fought against my brother." Bjorn smirked. "But I'd say he's come for his priest, more likely."

Alfred's brows furrowed. "Heahmund?"

"My little brother and my father." Bjorn tilted his head. "They are very much alike. In some ways." He laughed.

"I understood Bishop Heahmund is with your mother?"

Bjorn frowned impressed. "You knew that?"

"Obviously. I have spies too."

"Isn't it against your– ah, celibacy?"

"I'm the product of my mother's infidelity with a priest. I'm not going to throw the first stone. And Heahmund is one of my strongest supporters."

"Fair enough. I thought all your reason was drowned out by your Jesus."

"So," Alfred prompted. "About Bishop Heahmund."

"Your bishop is a complicated man. He plays many games. But for the time being he saved our lives, even if he most likely did it to get his own freedom back. Your father and my father, they loved and respected each other, because they both aspired to knowledge and ultimately peace. They wanted to understand the world. Now, your bishop and my little brother, they love war. And Ivar, he holds on tightly to the things he wants. And the game your priest played with him was a far more dangerous one than the one he's playing now with my mother."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

Bjorn shrugged. "I love my mother, I love my little brother. I don't much care about Heahmund. But it's not like I can reason with them, now can I?"

"You make it sound like Bishop Heahmund isn't a very trustworthy man."

"Do you trust him?" Bjorn asked with a knowing smirk. "Do you really?"

"Athelstan once returned to Norway, with your father. Do you think Heahmund will go back with your brother?"

"I doubt it. Athelstan loved Ragnar. I don't know if your priest loves anyone at all. But on the other hand, I'm not sure Ivar's going to take no for an answer. Then again, I'm not sure Ivar plans to leave at all. He always liked England more."

"I met Ivar, once. When we were both boys."

"When my father died."

"Yes. I found him smart and likable."

Bjorn guffawed. "Smart, yes. About the latter you're probably the only person."

"He was lost and scared, but also very brave. We found common ground then. I'd like to believe we can do it again."

Bjorn shook his head. "My brother doesn't like either reason or common ground. He'll burn and pillage your whole country unless we stop him."

"Still I would wish to talk to him, before we must fight."

"Serve yourself." Bjorn shrugged. "You're king."

"So I am." Alfred replied ruefully.

*

"I hear our brother and King Harald have arrived." Magnus said, sitting down beside Bjorn. "Tell me about them."

"Ivar is a strange man." Bjorn said pensively. "People call him crazy... But I think he just has too many of my father's gifts. He is not truly a bad person. Just..." Bjorn shrugged helplessly.

"For all my life they've been calling my mother insane and a whore. But they feared her. She nearly killed King Ecbert. Did you know that? She killed both her brothers too."

"Yes, I knew your mother. She was a very famous queen. Just like my mother and Ivar's mother, over whom this whole war started." He did not say that Kwentrith had mostly scared and bewildered him, back then. And that he'd had altogether different problems too. He thought of Thorunn, of little Siggy.

"Can you not understand that he wants to avenge his mother's death?" Magnus ripped him from his dark and regretful thoughts.

"Oh, I do. But I have a mother as well." Looking at Magnus, he once more thought of Kwentrith laughing and dancing among them, among the corpses of her own people. Oh, had she propositioned him that night he'd have not dared touch her. A witch, he'd thought, a sorceress. Something that drove men insane and then vanished again, once the chaos was complete. No, he saw not any of her danger, of her magic in Magnus. He was bland. There was no mystery about him. No danger.

"Tell me about King Harald." his brother now asked.

"He's a great warrior. I respect him. I was friends with his brother. He died in the battle after which we fled here. There, Harald's wife died too, with their unborn child." Bjorn thought back on all the stories Halfdan had told him in the nights in the desert. "He's never had much luck with women, Halfdan used to say. He doesn't understand them." He chuckled. "He only wanted to become king of Norway so some woman would marry him. He wouldn't cut his hair until he'd achieved his goal. But the woman had already married someone else." Bjorn shrugged. "So he killed her husband. And she nearly killed him. He's too guileless. Halfdan always had to look out for him."

"And now he's gone."

"Yes." Bjorn said wearily. "Now he's gone."

*

"The Bishop of Dorchester is here again." Judith whispered to Alfred.

"Oh for God's sake!"

"Who is that?" Ubbe asked.

"He's... Nevermind. Lead him inside."

A man in his early thirties, with pitch black hair, strode inside, fervor to his steps, his bishop robes splattered with mud. His features were sharp-cut, everything from his cheekbones to the thin nose that dominated his face. It was the face of a scholar, none of the lethargic disinterest, you saw in many of the nobles' faces, in his eyes. Right now, though, his face was a mask of distinct displeasure. Without addressing Alfred, he spoke up. "Still no measures have been taken as to improving the situation of our brothers in Christ! Monasteries all over Wessex and Mercia alike are lying bare, the brothers having fled from the Viking threat! Priceless and irreplaceable scriptures lost to us forever!"

"I'd like to think not quite as priceless as the lives of the men writing them." Alfred murmured under his breath. Louder he went on, "I am well aware that all the English kingdoms have been plagued by various attacks of the manifold Viking factions, through the last years, Bishop. It has not slipped our notice that Northumberland has been in a constant state of siege these past years, nor the losses in our own lands. But with Ivar Lothbrok and King Harald returned to our shore, we have a much more perilous threat to avert. Even though not a man of the military, you must surely see that."

The Bishop only gave him a withering stare. "I've come to you before, to ask for funds and support for relocating the people afflicted by the Viking invasion. The monasteries inland are full of fled monks and villagers alike! They have neither the room nor supplies to house and care for them all! There are no soldiers to escort and evacuate these people to larger cities! There's starvation and disease spreading! Daily I receive letters from bishops and abbots who have to turn people away, because they cannot house any more! I've only just returned from Leicester. They're housing people in the scriptorium! Those who've found a place in the stables can call themselves lucky. Most are sleeping outside. What's to happen once winter arrives?!"

"I am doing the best I can, Bishop. I have no men to spare, unless you wish for me to let the Northmen pass unhindered into our lands. We are at war. And it is asking of me to make hard decisions for the benefit of the many. I am aware of the reprehensible state those parts of my lands which have been taken by the Northmen, have fallen into, York just one among many. But I can do very little more than promise refuge to those who make it to our city of Winchester, and to advice the governors of our other cities to do the same."

A lot more was said, in very unchristian fashion, before the bishop left without as much as a bow.

"So, who was that, now?" Ubbe asked again. "Didn't sound like no one."

"That is Plegmund, Bishop of Dorchester. He is a good man, a great scholar, by far surpassing his contemporaries. He does a lot of good. He was ordained as bishop at age 26. Before that he's held high honors in Rome. He already wrote biblical theses at age fifteen. He studied in the Vatican and worked in the greatest library of clerical texts in the world. But right now, I do not need another problem."

"How can he be such a problem? He's just one man."

"He makes himself heard, as you just witnessed. With the nobles, and more importantly with the Pope."

*

"Alfred, you keep the Northmen too close. They have no business knowing our state affairs." Aethelred admonished.

"Brother, if I do not consider them friends so at least comrades in arms. And if I did not trust them, all the more reason to keep them close."

"You sound like grandfather."

"And he was right."

"Ecbert thought himself so smart, but he could not keep his distance. He thought him and Ragnar friends in the end."

"If we can be friends, why shouldn't we try to be? Is peace not always the favorable solution?" Alfred asked.

"You will do what you will. As Ecbert did."

"As father did. As is the lot of kings. In the end, we must decide."

*

"I see the Sword of God has returned to us." Plegmund said. "Praised be the Lord."

"Praised be the Lord." Heahmund repeated, smiling through his teeth, the look of false friendliness over thinly veiled disgust shared between the two men.

"Let's not mince our words, Heahmund. My travel was long and tiring and under the most unfortunate of circumstances. Cuthred may have been a man of the secular life, ordained for entirely the wrong reasons, but ordained nevertheless. And even if not, a murder in the house of God? Was it vanity, Heahmund, that you had not even the decency to drag him outside to cut his throat? Or have you found a taste for the pagan ways while you stayed with them?"

"He was a traitor and a threat to our good king." Heahmund replied with a polite smile.

"Indeed. I assume we'd have to take your word for it. If only it were still any good." With that Bishop Plegmund turned around and walked off.

*

Plegmund seemed to have unerringly chosen his spot as spokesperson of Alfred's critics. Alfred could not deny a certain soundness of Plegmund's concerns, it wasn't like he himself was blind to the lacking compromises they had to make these days, but right now the last thing he needed was just one critic more.

Opposed to them stood Heahmund, who with sheer fervor, thought to convince the nobles of the error of their ways or simply cow them into silence. 

Plegmund asked for East Anglia to settle those who'd lost their homes. Heahmund asked for a preemptive strike against the Northmen. And the other nobles, they simply wanted a new king.

*

"We can't all be the sword of God, Heahmund." Plegmund said. "Not all of us can find their calling in the taking of lives. Some of us have to work on preserving them." It was spoken scathingly.

"No one denies your great works of charity, Plegmund. But you cannot deny that we're at war."

"Certainly. But while to you, your sword might be food and shelter alike, some of us need bread, too, and a roof over our heads."

"Well, then we should praise the Lord that you are there to look after their needs. Careful, though, Plegmund, now that you're at court. Righteousness often turns to vanity if not closely watched. And flatterers are everywhere around here."

"Talking from experience?"

"Oh, I'm humbled by my recent experience with the Northmen." Heahmund replied, his smile as false as any claim of humility. "You can lose everything so quickly."

*

"Prince Aethelred." Plegmund bowed.

"Bishop." Aethelred inclined his head.

"Have you come to pray?"

"No. I wish to speak to you. You are well respected among nobles and clergy."

"If you say so." Plegmund smiled politely. "I'm honored if my voice is heard."

"I would ask you to speak less harshly in your judgement of my brother."

"Oh?"

"He is young and inexperienced. But he has a good heart and his efforts are for the best."

"Your concern honors you, Prince. But one who ascends the throne should be prepared for what's to follow. I am only a single man, my word alone could sway no one if they were not already inclined to listen. Consider that."

*

"I've just become the most powerful person in all of England. The greatest Viking army we've seen in years is at my shore. We stand here, with an alliance that weeks ago would have seemed impossible. And my biggest worry is my impending marriage." Alfred stated, looking out the window, arms crossed. 

Bjorn shrugged. "Yeah, well. I wonder though, why are you talking to me and not your brother?"

"I took this crown from my brother. I cannot bother him with my fears and insecurities now. That would be adding insult to injury."

"Hm. I see. And you trust me enough to give me your confidence?"

"I trust you." Alfred simply replied. Then added, "I'm letting you fight for me. If I don't trust you there's no alliance. There's no point to any of this. And certainly, you might be laughing with your people about me, behind my back. But I don't think you are. And to be honest, I'd rather have you laugh about me than my own people."

"Why would I be laughing? Women are terrifying. You're right to be scared." Bjorn grinned.

"I mean, I'm going to spend the rest of my life with a woman I barely know."

"You decided to trust us a lot sooner."

"Ah, so that's an alliance that's going to last the rest of our lives too?" Alfred smiled.

Bjorn frowned and shrugged. "Hopefully."

*

"I want you to teach me how to fight." Alfred said.

"No." Bjorn laughed. "You don't want that."

*

Aethelred warily watched his brother and the Viking spar in the courtyard, laughing together with a level of familiarity that worried him.

"Not bad, for a shieldmaiden." he just now heard the Viking address his brother.

"Your mother is the far superior fighter," Alfred returned unfazed. "So I consider that a compliment."

Aethelred's hands balled into fists. How dared the savage talk like that to the King of Wessex? What was Alfred thinking, letting himself be talked to such, in public?

*

Aethelred stopped his brother, as he came back from training, face red from exertion, but also cheerful and carefree in a way he seldomly was, these days.

"Don't be ridiculous, Alfred, you're not going into battle. That's an unnecessary risk. Some fighting lessons with Bjorn Ironside won't make up for years of training."

"I know all that, brother." Alfred replied, still in a good mood. "I don't plan to follow you into battle. I simply mean to pick up the lessons I've sincerely neglected, lately. Not that I've ever invested as much time as you. But what little I know I wish to further."

"You could have asked me."

"You always go too easy on me. You and mother treat me like I'm made from spun sugar. I can assure you I'm not."

"You have a bruise on your face."

"I know."

"You can't have that. You're the king. What kind of picture are you presenting?"

"I'll ask mother to cover it up." Alfred conceded with a sigh.

*

Aethelred stepped in Bjorn's way.

"You hit my brother in the face."

Bjorn frowned. "We were sparring."

"You hit the king of Wessex and Mercia. Let's see if you manage to hit his brother." Aethelred challenged darkly. "Real weapons. We're not little girls."

Bjorn only snorted, but smiled, seizing Aethelred up.

At the end of the fight both Bjorn and Aethelred were sporting bruises. Alfred looked at them both questioningly when they arrived to the court meeting.

*

"I feel like he's a little brother to me. Another one." Bjorn gave a wry grin. "You know, mother, Athelstan was there when you and father were away. I think I want to be there for his son. It's the least I owe him. And it makes me happy to look at him. To see Athelstan in him. To see the strength he had. Don't you feel the same?"

Lagertha smiled fondly. "I agree, my son. It gives me comfort to know he lives on. Comfort in a time were very little comfort is to be found. But I'm also wary of our young king. He is more Ecbert's child than he is Athelstan's. And Athelstan, too, was a smart man. With Ecbert's guidance, young Alfred has the potential to be a very dangerous man."

Bjorn shrugged. "We're here now. Let's see what happens."

*  
YORK

"King Alfred wants to talk."

"Who did he send?"

"He's come himself."

*

Ivar grinned at Alfred. "I heard you'd become king now. Even though you have an older brother. So have I. Curious how that works out."

"And I hope I can fulfill the high expectations bound with my office. As I hope you will."

"They call you weak." Ivar went on. "They called me weak too, once upon a time. They pitied me. Now they fear me." There was a certain wistfulness to his tone now. "When I first came to England. With my father. I watched him getting beat down in front of my eyes. He looked helpless and pathetic. But I felt even more so. Thrown across a horse, unable to aid him. All I could do was watch. And I was afraid. I was truly afraid. After all the humiliation I'd born growing up, my greatest shame was here in England. It's interesting how I still like to come here so much. Maybe because now it is you who are afraid of me."

"I don't strive to be feared. I wish to be respected. But I'm not afraid, either, to go down that path if it is necessary."

"You're protecting my brothers and Lagertha."

"They are my allies."

Ivar tilted his head, grimacing contemplatively. "And they're my enemies. You are my enemy too."

"We needn't be enemies. And they are your brothers."

There was the first heat in Ivar's voice. "Lagertha killed my mother."

"I am sorry about that. Why?"

"Jealousy. Spite. She took something else from me too."

"What can I do so we can come to a peaceful solution?"

"I don't want peace." Ivar looked at Alfred like he was crazy. "Who wants peace? I'm here for war."

"You will find it, if that's what you desire."

"Is the priest fighting for you?"

"Bishop Heahmund? Yes."

"Ah, so you gave him his title back. I'm sure he's glad. I'm looking forward to seeing him. Tell him that."

*

"Who the fuck is this?"

"He stayed behind when the envoy of Alfred left. He says he's the son Ragnar had in England."

*

"So you're the guy who's supposed to be our brother?" Ivar asked.

"I am." Magnus replied.

"See, I have an abundance of brothers, already, and most of them are nothing but trouble."

Magnus shrugged. "Yet I have priceless information about the land, that can aid you in your attack." He turned to Harald. "I'm not sure, maybe King Harald has use for that, if you don't."

Harald laughed. "This one's not cowed by you, Ivar. Maybe he's really Ragnar's son."

Ivar shrugged. "You must hate them very much to want to fight alongside us."

Magnus pursed his lips in petulance. "I am Viking."

"So you say. How could you really be if you've lived here all your life? Maybe it is not all you expected." Ivar shrugged. "Maybe you'll be disappointed."

"It can only be better. After all you did not murder my mother."

Ivar looked surprised for a moment. "Alright. Serve yourself. You can fight for us if you want. Maybe you'll die soon."

*  
WESSEX

And now the wolves were outside his gates, and the time for ifs and maybes was over. It was time they all showed if their word was any good. The Vikings and Alfred alike.

"It seems we must fight." Alfred started the meeting. "What about King Harald, could he be payed off?"

"I believe so." Lagertha said. "He's ambitious, but he might agree."

"No, brother." Aethelred spoke up. "You pay them off and they will keep coming back. We have to show them that we're strong enough."

"Are you?" Lagertha scoffed. "Are you strong enough?"

"I will not discuss these matters with a woman." Aethelred said curtly.

"And why not?" Lagertha tilted her head, pushing Aethelred in the chest mockingly, not even using much force. "Why exactly would you not discuss these matters with me? When I already fought battles when you were not even born."

"My apologies, Lady Lagertha." Alfred interrupted. "We value your experience highly, and my brother meant no disrespect. Merely are we unused to women of your education, which is our negligence, and certainly our disadvantage."

*

On an emotional basis, he could well understand that Ivar would want the murderer of his mother. But Alfred wasn't king to make emotional decisions.

"Why do you not want to avenge your mother?" Alfred asked.

"Do you want me to join Ivar's side?" Ubbe asked amused.

"I simply want to understand."

"She wasn't much of a mother. I do not miss her. She doesn't deserve a war on her behalf."

"That's harsh."

"It's how I feel." Ubbe shrugged.

*

Alfred looked at Aethelred. "Ivar is the only one who wants to avenge his mother's death. Ubbe does not care at all. Can you imagine? A son not wanting to avenge his mother's death? Brothers fighting brothers?"

"They're heathens. They know no decency."

"No love either?"

"How would we know? They're no better than animals."

"Ubbe told me his mother did not love him, and always favored Ivar. I cannot believe that to be true."

Aethelred's face took a bitter turn. "Of course. What mother wouldn't love her own child?"

*

Judith looked at him surprised. "You come to me?"

Bjorn ducked his head. "I want to talk about Magnus."

"Magnus?" she looked at him confused. "The son of the late Queen Kwentrith?"

"My half-brother."

"What of him? He's been missing for over six years now. Who knows if he's even still alive."

"He's been secretly living at court for many months now."

She looked dumbstruck. "We would have surely known of that."

He shrugged. "But you didn't."

"Is he still here now?" He could almost see her call for guards this moment.

"No, he stayed behind at Ivar and Harald's camp." Bjorn pursed his lips. "He's fighting for the Vikings now."

"Why did you not speak up earlier?"

"He asked me not to. I didn't know he was a threat to you." An innocent smile. "Is he?"

"Of course not. He was Kwentrith's bastard with Lord knows whom."

"You knew him when he lived here."

"Yes."

"Tell me about him."

Something twisted in her face. Then she shrugged off whatever reservations she'd had. "Aethelwulf loved him. Like his own. Like he loved Alfred. He loved Kwentrith too. I did not begrudge him that. I was happy with Ecbert." She shook her head in disbelief. "He truly loved her. I had not thought someone so fixated on God and what's proper could love a wild animal such as her. Ecbert sent Aethelwulf away, so he couldn't protect her, because he'd already planned to kill her. In the end it was me, though." She let out a sharp laugh. "I never told that to anyone. It was me who killed Kwentrith, to save Ecbert. She was with child. It wasn't my first or my last sin. Not my last murder either. Such it is to be a queen, and more importantly to be a mother. We must protect those we love, mustn't we?"

Bjorn shrugged. "What else were you supposed to do? My mother killed two of her husbands."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bishop Plegmund is a semi-OC I created mainly to give the opposition, Alfred is facing at court, an actual face. He is based on two historical persons, though. While I did research, I found two bishops during Alfred's actual reign (one of them named Plegmund), of whom one had serious beef with Alfred concerning the situation with the refugees due to the Viking situation, and I thought that's actually an interesting aspect that the show never really focused on. And that one really had very good ties to the Pope. But I'm not going to reveal too much, you'll see how it turns out.


	3. Wolves at the door

There was a time, I used to look into my father's eyes  
In a happy home, I was a king I had a golden throne  
Those days are gone, now they're memories on the wall

My father said,  
Don't you worry, don't you worry, child  
See, heaven's got a plan for you

(Swedish House Mafia - Don't you worry child)

***

Bjorn, Lagertha, Ubbe and Torvi made their way outside, where the troops of Alfred, under the lead of his brother, were already gathered.

"What are you doing here?" Aethelred asked him, face in a sneer of contempt.

"I agreed to fight for your brother. So I will." Bjorn said, teeth-baring smile.

"He is the king." Aethelred agreed grudgingly. "So it looks like we will fight together."

The king's brother was a complicated man. Even though, to his own people he probably seemed simple. But to Bjorn, he looked at war with himself. Like he was constantly acting against his better judgement. And maybe he was. He was no friend of theirs and made it obvious. Still, Bjorn could much more relate to him than to Alfred. He liked Alfred, just like he'd liked Athelstan. But just like Athelstan, he didn't understand him. Aethelred, on the other hand, was a warrior, like him. What baffled him was how he could have left the crown to his younger brother when it was his birthright. But then again, wasn't it Ivar ruling in Kattegat right now?   
Aethelred hated them. All of them, and still he stood loyal to his little brother. That was more than Bjorn could say for himself and all his brothers.

*

This he knew. Here he had command, control. For some time at least Aethelred could feel like he had purpose. How sad that he would find respite in battle. He remembered when Ivar Lothbrok had last been here. Back, when Aethelwulf had still been alive. Aethelred was prepared this time. He wouldn't make the same mistakes his father had made. Among them pride. And now they hated the same man, for different reasons, when, the last time, Aethelred had still looked up to Heahmund as a man to aspire to, a model of piousness and prowess in battle. How wrong he'd been.

"Bishop Heahmund." The title alone burned on his lips. "I would hear your council." Heahmund had been right then, and his father had not listened, because he'd felt weakened by the other man's proficiency. But Aethelred was already weakened, emasculated by his brother and mother, reduced to a role he did not quite know himself. He had no pride or position to protect, he had only his brother to protect, and he would. And he might not have been taught by Ecbert like his brother, but he was Ecbert's grandson, and he knew like his grandfather before him that it would be foolish to turn away the man who'd lived among these heathens.

He saw the surprise in Heahmund's eyes as he felt himself thus addressed when he'd expected to be dismissed. "My Lord Aethelred, methinks we have two enemies and not one to face here." He paused to gauge Aethelred's reaction, then continued, "These Vikings are not all the same. They are hostile tribes, often with wars going on in their own lands. In this case we have King Harald and we have Ivar Lothbrok. And while they were allied when they last fought here, and while they were still allied when I left Norway, they were never friends of one another, but rivals. For Kattegat and for the throne of all of Norway. I believe we have to treat them as different factions."

"What course of action would you advice then?" Aethelred asked.

"We make use of that enmity and turn them against each other. And soon we will fight on one front while they will on two."

"I agree." Aethelred nodded. "Lord Heahmund. Our conversations will not be shared with the Northmen."

"Of course, my lord." Heahmund bowed.

*

At the Viking camp, that was loud with the scrape of leather and metal as people prepared for battle, Ivar turned to the man who was supposedly his brother.

"Are you afraid?" Ivar asked." Are you afraid to die here today?"

"No." Magnus shrugged. "It would be an honorable death."

Ivar tilted his head. "No, you don't think you're going to die today."

"I'm a son of Ragnar Lothbrok." Magnus smiled. "Beloved by the gods."

"Let's see. Let's see."

*

"Where's your ring?" Bjorn asked in disbelief. He picked the cross off Ubbe's chest and let it fall again in disgust and dismissal. "Is this supposed to protect you in battle? The Christian God who preaches love and forgiveness?!"

"I don't know." Ubbe said. "Our uncle renounced our gods and lived quite well after it. He has a kingdom. A wife. Children. I don't know, Bjorn. Either our gods do not care all that much what we do. Or the Christian god is much stronger than you give him credit."

*

They looked at the overpowering odds of the Viking army in front of them. 

Bjorn gave Heahmund a wry glance. "You look happy, Bishop."

"It is good to be fighting on the right side again."

"Or maybe just to be fighting again, eh?"

Heahmund snorted and turned away from him. It was true, though. He felt elation like nothing else in the world.

*

Ivar had expected for Magnus to run once the first sword was drawn. He didn't. He threw himself into battle like the next man. And Ivar watched with nagging unease, thinking how easily this man had switched sides, in the first place. How his harmless, overexcited maybe-brother cut down warrior after warrior.

Magnus held Ivar's attention only for a short moment, though. Then his gaze swept the enemy line for a particular man who carried the image of a cross on his chest. He found him, too, that bitch Lagertha beside him. For a nasty little moment he hoped they'd both be killed in battle today. But just at the mere thought his heart beat harder in his chest in sheer terror.

*

There was Ivar. On the other side of the field. Impossible to miss. Or maybe, actually very easy to miss. Except for Heahmund. The grip on the hilt of his sword tightened.

*

Bjorn turned around and saw that Prince Aethelred wasn't on his horse any longer. His light tunic he wore over his armor, showing Alfred's coat of arms, was already streaked with the spray of blood and dirt. Bjorn watched as Aethelred's sword got stuck in an enemy's body, and instead he picked up a rock and bashed the man's head in with it. With an animal grunt he pulled his sword free then, half-crazed eyes meeting Bjorn's from a face that was red with blood. To his other side, Bjorn saw Heahmund letting out a roaring scream as he threw himself into yet another throng of Viking warriors. And Bjorn thought, they weren't all that different, all of them. They'd all been fools to dismiss the English warriors as inferior. Ivar was going to learn that lesson too.

*

"Who's that fighting beside my brother?" Ivar asked Magnus, when the other suddenly jumped up to him onto his chariot, blood-splattered and grinning.

"That's Aethelred." Magnus replied.

"Oh? It is? I didn't recognize him."

"You met him before?"

"Not met, no." Ivar smiled. "I saw him. At York."

*

Battle found both Aethelred and Bjorn lying in the trenches, taking cover from a swarm of arrows.

"At least you are honest." Aethelred said through his teeth. "And don't defile our faith with your false vows, like your brother."

Bjorn laughed. "So, you're saying you respect me?"

"I didn't say that."

Bjorn wiped his face leisurely, as if they weren't wedged behind a boulder, burning arrows just narrowly missing them. "You gave up your crown. Why'd you do that?" 

Aethelred stared at him for a moment, taken off guard by such a direct question. But then he answered after all. Maybe because he felt he indeed needed to justify his decision, as not to seem as weak as he felt. "Aren't you the eldest of your brothers too? I don't see a crown on your head. Your little brother has the crown. And you followed your mother. I followed my mother too."

"Hn." Bjorn tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Mothers, eh?"

Aethelred snorted, could not fathom how the Viking could act like they were friends all of a sudden.

And then they were jumping back into battle, already.

*

Aethelred wasn't bad, Bjorn could give him that. But then, neither had Aethelwulf been, however little good Bjorn had to say about him otherwise. He'd been a warrior and his son was too. He wasn't cunning like Ivar. But there was merit to his plans. He'd obviously been well taught in the craft of war. He was good at leading them. These Christian warriors weren't like them, they didn't go into battle each an individual fighter. They needed someone to inspire them, to lead them. And Aethelred was good at that. Rallying them before battle. At fighting too, but Bjorn had not had any doubt about that, had he after all first-hand experience.

*  
SAXON CAMP

The first clash was over, the lines drawn in blood. Like two dogs sniffing each other, the armies had felt each other up. It felt real now. As real as splintered bone protruding from destroyed flesh. Aethelred had a lot to prove. A lot of responsibility. Alfred might be on the throne but it would be up to Aethelred to drive the heathens back, where both his father and his grandfather had failed. Aethelred would have been lying if he'd claimed he wasn't intimidated by matching wits with Ivar Lothbrok. He had God on his side, but God had not saved Aella, nor Ecbert. It was up to him to save them all. It was not the Great Heathen Army, yet too large by far. He remembered the battle for York, where he'd been a boy following his father. Now he was not king, yet still leader of the army. He could not afford to turn away any expertise that could help him. Maybe that was the true advantage he had before his father. You could learn to fight. You could study all the strategies used in the past, school your mind to work the battlefield as you would a chess board. But the true quality of a leader was to have the humility to realise when someone knew better than you. This was not the kind of war where Aethelred could allow himself mistakes. He was Moses, with Ivar and Harald on either side like the Red Sea, ready to swallow them right up.

"Ivar is the more dangerous of the two." Heahmund said. "Harald is a masterful warlord, but Ivar is cunning and very resourceful."

Aethelred turned to the side, where the Northmen stood. "Do you agree, Bjorn Ironside?"

Bjorn looked up in surprise, had Aethelred never yet asked any of them for their opinion and merely silently suffered their presence, listening to Lagertha alone, grudgingly, when she spoke up, because her station demanded it, but never initiating such advice. "Yes." he now said. "Harald is a great warrior, a good leader. But my brother... he is a man like Ragnar and King Ecbert were."

*  
VIKING CAMP

"What are you singing?"

Harald turned around, surprised. He'd deemed himself alone. It was the Saxon, Magnus. "It's a war song. I used to sing it with my brother."

"We do not sing before battle." Magnus commented. "Maybe that's the problem." He sat down in the grass. "No. Continue. I enjoyed your song."

Harald stared for a moment, incredulous at the entitlement of the newcomer. His story must be true indeed, who could be any more entitled than a son of Ragnar Lothbrok? "Why don't you sing something?" he proposed gruffly.

The other hesitated barely a moment before he started singing in a clear and resonating voice. Harald didn't know the language. Despite a certain repetitive nature to the song it pulled you in. Eerily beautiful.

"What is that?" Harald asked when Magnus had finished.

"Gloria in excelsis deo." Magnus replied. "It's a very common song."

"What is it about?"

"Just some love story."

*

Ivar and Magnus were sitting at the fire, most already having retired for the night.

"We met before, do you remember, Ivar?" Magnus tilted his head. "Our father was in a cage. And you were a prisoner. But," He opened his palms, smiling. "I was a prisoner too, even if no one spoke it out loud. The day our father repudiated me."

Ivar laughed. "Yes, I remember. Your famous conception by piss. Well, I did not know it worked that way." He shrugged jovially.

"He obviously only denied my parentage to protect me from Ecbert's scheming, since he himself had lost all power and could barely protect you, not to mention himself." Magnus' smile was as sweet and unassuming as his voice. As Ivar himself might have wrapped an insult.

"Yes, obviously." Ivar smiled pleasantly.

"Still, I took it hard, as children will." Magnus shrugged. "But that was years ago. Now I'm just so excited to see you again."

*  
SAXON CAMP

"You know a great deal about Ivar Lothbrok, Lord Heahmund." Aethelred said, when the other'd arrived at Aethelred's tent.

"I was his prisoner." Heahmund stated succinctly.

"Tell me more about him. What am I to expect along the way?"

"He is an invalid, so some might dismiss him. But that is a grave error, which at this stage few would make any longer. He is more imaginative than most when it comes to his plans. He knows no scruple, none at all, and will do things that most wouldn't dare to imagine. Such cruelty that it will shock even his own people. He is smart. Very much so. Every detail of a battle is planned in advance. Each plan has layers upon layers, for each eventuality. He studies his opponent and uses his weaknesses against him. He will pretend weakness to lure you into a trap, or make you believe he's invincible when he's all alone on the ground."

"You sound almost like you admire him, Bishop." Aethelred drawled, subtle warning in his voice.

"Not admiration, my lord Aethelred. Just the necessary caution and respect for another's abilities, that are necessary for survival."

*

Nothing made for faster friends than waiting. The weeks on weeks of being in the field together. The equally charring and numbing wait before an attack, when you needed to be vigilant but couldn't act. All that pent-up energy hanging in limbo. People thrown together who didn't know each other, yet would have to trust the next man with their life. There was always a point when the final word about strategy was spoken. When the silence became inacceptable. Because an idle mind and too much time made for bad decisions. Too much of that could conjure up flaws in the best plan. It could convince you that unlikely scenarios were the most probable outcome. So one talked. About all and nothing. Just to keep the doubts off.

The topic had once more settled on Ivar and Alfred.

"You do not care that they're your half-brothers," Aethelred said. "Neither do I."

"You knew?" Bjorn asked surprised.

"Yes. Of course I knew. These things are hard not to notice. Did you honestly think during my growing up, my father and mother never talked about the fact that she cheated on him, bore him the child of another man, and he had one of her ears cut off?"

Bjorn frowned. "That's barbaric."

Aethelred laughed. "That's rich coming from you."

"Why didn't Ecbert want an actual descendant of his on the throne?"

There was a bitter smile on Aethelred's face. "Because I was never good enough." He looked at the battlefield. "But I'm good enough for this."

Bjorn shrugged. "There are worse things."

*

"You've gotten close to my brother." Aethelred mentioned one morning, not quite yet a verdict of mistrust, just a statement, yet with caution.

"I know a thing or two about little brothers." Bjorn replied casually. "They're cute as long as they only reach up to your hip. After that they're mostly trouble."

Aethelred started laughing despite himself.

*

And then there was the time when the waiting was over, and all those best laid plans needed to hold under the onslaught of sword and axe. And each could only pray to whichever god they believed in, for that ever-deciding piece of luck.

*

"We have to win here, today." Aethelred said, eyes gleaming beyond reason from his blood and dirt marked face. He'd fought like a maniac, despite the crushing odds. "I cannot return to my brother, having failed him here."

"Don't be stupid." Bjorn said. "The day is lost. We have to regroup."

Aethelred just bared his teeth at him. "I didn't think you Vikings ran from battle."

Bjorn snorted, spitting out on the ground. "You talk a great deal. I'm not running."

Together they fought through the throng of approaching Viking warriors, as around them the Saxon soldiers fled.

It went on for some time and Bjorn was exceptionally enjoying himself, when his mother and Heahmund showed up.

"My lord Aethelred." the priest said. "We have to leave now or our path will be cut off."

Lagertha just threw her son a very distinctive look that barred all further argument.

*

Magnus stood there, after the battle, the fringes of his blond hair matted with blood that wasn't his own. A grin was splitting his face. Ivar saw him pick up the helmet of a fallen Saxon soldier and spin it around in his hand, laughing for real now, head thrown back. Ivar felt himself laugh too. He walked towards him, patting him on the back. "Maybe you are Viking. Or maybe you are just crazy."

*

Magnus looked at Ivar and Harald. "Back when our father secured my mother her throne, he sent them back the heads of their fallen soldiers. Maybe we should do something like that again."

Harald laughed. "He certainly is not a Christian!"

*

"You must be my brother, indeed." Ivar told Magnus, during the celebrations at camp, that night. "At least you're not as dull as my other brothers. And father cared about you even less than he did about me."

"Does it matter who's my father? In truth, in this world we can only ever be sure of our mothers. And isn't that enough?"

Ivar tilted his head in contemplation. "It is." he shrugged joyfully. "Who knows if Ubbe even is Ragnar's son?"

*

The celebrations were proceeding more and more unhinged. And already Harald's thoughts were turning darker again. The shadow of Halfdan seemed to drink and celebrate among the warriors. He wondered if Bjorn Ironside grieved him like he did. He thought of Ivar who had a pregnant wife at home, while his wife and child were in the ground. Yet, they had had a great victory today. So he should rejoice. There were many beautiful women here, as Ivar had said. Still Harald felt incapable of engaging, of even mingling. Had not left his chair at the head of the hall, all night. Only his cup had been filled again and again. And he'd gulped it down without even tasting it.

The English son of Ragnar suddenly sat beside him, drank some ale, and looked pensively into the crowd. "Can't find any women to interest you?" Magnus asked. "Neither can I. They bore me. They don't really know how to please a man, do they?" He laughed.

And Harald companionably chimed in. These days, everything was incredibly funny or insanely sad.

"Come." Magnus then said, pulling Harald along. "Let's celebrate by ourselves."

Harald followed along, because it was true, it was getting louder and louder, and seeing those others' happiness did not turn his thoughts any lighter. It had been spur of the moment, when he'd asked Gunnhild to divorce her husband and marry him, earlier that night. Anything to forget his grief for a moment, as if someone could just replace Astrid. Maybe it was only right that she'd laughed in his face. But right now he could not bear the happiness of everyone around him. So he followed Magnus.

He was too drunk probably, so he didn't notice any sooner what Magnus was doing, when he'd pushed him to sit on the bed, until the other was on his knees before him and had already opened his trousers. He was about to ask something, but when the other leaned in, his thoughts left him.

After a while Magnus looked up at him, licking his lips. "What are you thinking of?" he asked, as Harald tried to clear his mind. "Are you thinking of your dead wife? Don't think of that. Think of the crown of Norway. Think of the things you want. That's what I am thinking about, always." He licked a stripe alongside the inside of Harald's thigh, as Harald himself groaned, unable to comprehend or react to anything that was happening. Mind filled with a swirl of arousal and disbelief.

Magnus got up then between Harald's thighs, pushed him flat on his back, and crawled on top of him, straddling his legs. Harald stared up to him from where he lay, too drunk and too aroused to form a question or put an end to it, too much of all of that to even think about whether he wanted to put an end to it, so it just continued happening.

Magnus regarded him, snorted softly, tilting his head. "They called my mother crazy, did you know that? Maybe I am too. And they feared her." Harald had not noticed that Magnus had opened his own pants as well, until the other settled down on him. He closed his eyes at the flood of sensation, and only vaguely heard the other's chuckle beside his face, as he leaned over him, his body flush against him, before his started moving again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this chapter Aethelred and Bjorn get some first bonding moments (this is slow burn, though. Although not half as much slow burn as Heavar xD). And Harald and Magnus got some character development.
> 
> In the next chapter Ivar and Heahmund are going to meet again! :D


	4. A knife in the ribs

Dangerous, your love is always dangerous  
And now I'm lost in us  
We're living in a lying trust  
I don't know why   
But I guess it's got something to do with you  
To do with you 

(Imagine Dragons - I don't know why)

***

"Brother, I am sorry. I've disappointed you." Aethelred said through clenched teeth, shoulders squared.

"You have not." Alfred said. "You did what was humanly possible. I could not have led our people into battle. So you do not owe me apologies but I and all of Wessex owe you gratitude." It felt strange, the weird formal barrier that seemed to exist between them since his coronation. When they'd been so close, for years. Irritated by it, Alfred took his brother by the arm and led him to the chairs. "Come sit with me. And tell me of the battle."

Aethelred sat down, accepting the goblet from his brother's hand. "We did lose against them this time. We could win the next time. Against one of them. But if we stand against both their armies, again, I see no chance for us."

"That's what I was afraid of. But, worry not, brother. I'm working on a way out of this. The responsibility does not rest on your shoulders entirely." Alfred paused. "What's your verdict now, brother? On our ill-gotten allies."

"They are not mindless animals, and they followed my command." Aethelred admitted grudgingly.

"Just that, brother?" Alfred chuckled.

"They're an asset." Aethelred conceded.

"What of Bishop Heahmund?"

Aethelred's expression turned dark. "His insights are priceless, for he knows them and he knows us. I doubt not his allegiance. But still it pains me that we must resort to the likes of him."

"Be kinder in your judgement, brother. We are all not without fault."

"He is a priest, goddammit!" Aethelred exclaimed, catching himself again immediately.

"Can you work with him?"

"I did. I will."

"Thank you."

Aethelred shook his head. "Don't thank me. I, too, just follow commands."

*

Lord Cuthbert was talking to the members of the clergy at court. "Archbishop Ceolnoth has died of grief over the ongoing Viking invasion and the devastation they have done to the Lord's houses throughout England!"

"Yes, but Prince Aethelred has shown great courage on the battlefield. He stayed behind, holding the line, so our men could retreat."

"Verily, he is his father's son."

An only barely concealed chuckle went through the rows.

When they noticed Judith, they fell silent instantly. She showed not that she had heard them, as she walked past the rows of men who deemed themselves so much better than her and her son, and yet dared not to oppose her openly. Silence suited them, she thought, as she absentmindedly touched the scar where her ear used to be. Let them stand back and be silent as she'd done for years.

Yet her position was not half as secure as she'd have wished it to be, and she knew it well. But it would be. She would see to it.

*

"You have heard already?" Judith asked, when she met with her younger son.

"He could not have died at a worse time." Alfred said with a frown. "People see it as a bad omen. And at least he was quiet. Now I have to decide which of the men who hate me, to appoint to this office."

"Heahmund would be a strong ally." Judith proposed.

Alfred laughed brittly. "There'd be mutiny, and rightfully so. It's bad enough that I reinstated him. No. It has to be one of my enemies, only the least dangerous one."

*

"You look unhappy." Bjorn said, as he, as it seemed to become customary lately, burst unprompted into Alfred's office.

"Well, yes. I have not much to be happy about currently."

"You'll get wrinkles." he commented, turning on his heels as if to see what new gadgets in Alfred's office he could play with. "I should draw a picture of your face and show it to Aethelred the next time we're discussing the benefits of not having the crown."

Alfred chortled a surprised laugh. "That's what you're talking about? I did not know you talked at all."

Bjorn pursed his lips contemplatively. "Yeah, well, we do at times." he admitted off-handedly.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Bjorn raised an eyebrow, regarding Alfred with a tilted head. "Somehow I get the feeling Ivar gets more fun out of being a king."

"Is he?" Alfred commented mildly. "What's your advice then?"

Bjorn walked over, booping Alfred on the nose. "Sleep more. Go fuck your wife."

"Bjorn!" Alfred exclaimed, going beet red.

"What?" Bjorn shrugged. "I doubt all you do is pray together."

"Let's not discuss it because it's embarassing. And even saying that was already too much." Alfred brushed him off, trying to muster some remnants of dignity.

"You know, I was a clumsy teen once, too. Only less repressed."

"I'm twenty."

"Oh."

"And I'm.... Okay, yes, I can not fault the latter. Any piece of advice you can offer that won't prevent us from ever looking the other in the face again?"

"Lick her down there."

"What?"

"You heard me." Bjorn smirked.

*  
YORK

Ivar watched as Harald and Magnus openly displayed the new level of their relationship, the other perched on the side of Harald's chair, drinking from his cup, laughing and whispering in his ear. Seemingly Magnus did not care what it made him in the eyes of everyone else here. Magnus could have claimed ignorance, but Ivar knew well that for the Christians it was an even worse offense. Maybe he really wasn't Christian. He certainly knew how to grab an opportunity. Maybe all the Christians were very much opportunists in that way. He thought of Heahmund, of his father's priest.

*

Ivar walked in on them, the two of them in bed. Even now Magnus did not seem embarassed. It made Ivar smile. He could respect that.

"What did you need, Ivar?" Harald asked, looking more relaxed than he'd seen him in weeks. Gods, that man was easy.

"Let's talk about our next attack."

Magnus started to get up but Harald pulled him back against his side. "Stay."

Ivar just shrugged. He was intrigued where this was going.

*

Later, when Ivar caught Harald alone, he took him to the side, commenting companionably. "You have strange taste."

"You are one to talk, still hung up over that Christian priest." Harald scoffed.

Ivar shrugged. "I'm not judging. Just..." He leaned in confidentially. "I think he might be a little crazy." Ivar laughed heartily and walked away, ignoring Harald's annoyed frown that followed him.

*

"So, brother." Ivar heavily sat down beside Magnus, throwing an arm around his shoulder in a gesture that might have been perceived as friendly but made most people only feel claustrophobic. Ivar knew that well, no one wanted to be that close to him, close enough to slide a knife between the ribs.

Magnus returned his smile unperturbed.

"I should thank you, I think." Ivar said, pointing a finger close to Magnus' face. "After all, you're taking care of one of my problems. I'm just trying to decide whether you're going to be a bigger problem than Harald."

"I have no ambition." Magnus replied easily.

"Of course not." Ivar agreed, nodding happily. "Neither do I."

*  
WESSEX

Alfred was sitting in an armchair beside a table full of scrolls, his hand closed around a cup of wine, when Heahmund entered.

"Bishop Heahmund," he greeted him. "I'd like your opinion."

"Certainly, sire." Heahmund remained standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back.

Alfred regarded Heahmund with close scrutiny. "It would seem that I could find a possibility for peace by handing Lagertha over to Ivar."

"If you think Ivar would honor such an agreement." Heahmund considered.

"What do you think? You know him better than most."

Heahmund tilted his head. "The death of Lagertha means a lot to him. But I don't think he'll ever completely desist from raiding. He enjoys it too much."

"Would it bother you?" Alfred then asked, cup poised against his lips. "Her death."

"My lord, I have only an interest in serving you and the Lord. The fate of the heathens is indifferent to me."

"Yet you seek physical pleasure with her." Alfred stated with no inflection as to imply his feelings on the matter.

Heahmund faced him unflinchingly, as calm as he'd been moments before. "It is a means to an end. And the sin I load upon my soul is certainly worth it, if it led me back to England and if it helps me control them."

"You are a frightening man, Lord Heahmund. I do not think I could ever aspire to wield manipulation as you do. You remind me of my grandfather." Alfred put his cup down, nails tapping momentarily on the table.

Heahmund bowed his head in acknowledgment.

"What would you advice me?" Alfred then asked. "Concerning Lagertha."

"You have to wager of whom you wish to make a friend and who you deem more profitable. Ivar is certainly the most powerful ally you could have, but also the most volatile. You have nothing to lose from killing Lagertha. She has no more power, no more allies. But if you kill her, you will have to kill all of them, especially Bjorn."

Alfred considered that. "Would you call me sentimental if I told you I did not want to do that?"

"My king, certainly you will find the wisdom to make the right decision."

"Would you talk to him for me? To Ivar. And report your observations as to the success of our endeavor?"

"I will, my lord."

*

"You plan to sell the Northmen out?" Judith asked curiously.

Alfred gazed into the distance pensively. "Lagertha is a great ally, as it concerns warfare. So are Ubbe and Bjorn. Only I doubt that their prowess is enough to guarantee our victory against the armies of King Harald and Ivar alike. Nor do I feel particularly confident of their allegiance to us. Only Ubbe and Torvi converted. And as for Lagertha, I doubt a woman like her would find much benefit in our society in which she'd be bereft of rights she used to have all her life. I do not believe that she could ever call England her home. So, sooner or later she will return to her people."

"What about the settlement?"

"Do you imagine, mother, that I'd stay king much longer if I'd let them make human sacrifices and whatever else practices they have, in their settlement? No, it will only be possible with men and women like Ubbe and Torvi who can keep up appearances. People are hardly ready for sermons held in English. I doubt they're ready for pagan beliefs practiced at their doorstep."

"I agree." Judith said. "I'm glad you do not let your friendship with them cloud your judgement. Ecbert cared dearly about Ragnar. Despite everything, they were something like friends. But it did not stop him from betraying him, for the sake of Wessex."

"Believe me, mother. I am well aware of the expectations that lie on my shoulders. I have already spoken to my brother on our chances of success in the battlefield. And I have sent Bishop Heahmund to talk to Ivar. After his return, I will make a decision as to how to proceed."

*  
YORK

Ivar and Magnus sat at dinner together, in the hollowed-out church of York, where pews had been replaced with tables.

"Do you remember your mother at all?" Ivar asked.

"Of course. People always think a child does not listen or does not remember."

"Was she a good mother, then? Did she love you?"

"Yes. My mother loved me. She fought two armed soldiers once, with nothing but a chair and some pieces of wood, to protect me. She nearly died, but not for one second did she stop fighting."

"She sounds remarkable." Ivar said, for once without mockery.

Harald came in. "What are you two talking about?"

Ivar smirked. "Magnus' parentage. Always an exciting topic."

*  
WESSEX

"Do you regret any of your decisions, Lagertha?" Alfred asked.

She looked at him oddly and then smiled. "You won't manage to get to my age, young king, without making many decisions that you regret. You will learn that yourself. Would I have preferred to remain a farmer, together with Ragnar? Certainly. But at this point in my life, I don't think I could be anything other than a queen."

"You are, doubtlessly." Alfred stated solemnly.

Lagertha nodded in acknowledgment, then proceeded to regard him, expression unreadable. "Say, where did Heahmund leave to, all of a sudden?"

"I sent him to start peace negotiations with Ivar."

"Hmm. I see." Lagertha pushed a strand of Alfred's hair behind his ear, as a mother would do with a child. "I don't see Athelstan in you." she said pensively. "Ecbert, though, I see."

"I have the feeling that's not a compliment."

She laughed, shortly, humorlessly. "No. It's not. Do you know what I said to Ecbert the last time I saw him? That he only loves himself. You're not like that, I can see that. But Athelstan... He could not lie or manipulate. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you're neither of them. Maybe it's your mother I see in you."

"What about Bjorn? Is he more you or Ragnar?"

"Ragnar, I'd say. Although, even Ragnar was never as easy to act without thinking."

"What about you? When you killed Ivar's mother. Was it reason that led you?"

Lagertha smiled ruefully. "No. It wasn't. But it can't be undone, can it?"

*  
YORK

"Well, Ivar, you look happy." Harald stated, mild reproach in his voice.

"Oh, I am." Ivar grinned. "Thank you for noticing. You will have to leave now." He made a shooing gesture. "I'm expecting a friend."

Harald scowled in displeasure. He knew well who'd arrived. Word was already spreading through camp. The priest was here. Harald remembered him well. A man of that caliber was hard to forget, as he'd once more proven on the battlefield. Too bad he was a Christian.

*

"What's the matter?" Magnus asked as Harald stormed in irritation radiating off him.

"Ivar's meeting with an emissary of Alfred. And he all but threw me out."

"I thought you were equals?"

"We are." Harald replied through clenched teeth. "But York is his stronghold."

"Maybe then you should get one of your own."

Harald smirked. "Maybe I should."

"Who did Alfred send?"

"Heahmund, the priest."

*

"Heahmund!" Ivar grinned. "Welcome to York. Come! Sit, sit." Ivar pushed a goblet of ale into Heahmund's hand. 

"Hello, Ivar." Heahmund said, smiling slightly. He looked around pensively. "I haven't been to York–"

"Since I took you prisoner there." Ivar smiled broadly.

"Yes." Heahmund nodded a wry notion to his expression. "I hear you are king of Kattegat, now. Congratulations. Is it not all you have dreamed of?"

"Why, thank you, priest." Ivar's returned smile was both coy and feral. "But you know well that my true goal has always been killing Lagertha. And of course fighting here, in England. And now look at this. I get to do both at the same time. The gods truly favor me. But tell me, what brings you here, my friend?"

"I come on behalf of my King Alfred who wishes to start peace negotiations."

Ivar tilted his head, a mocking lilt to his voice. "I already told 'your King Alfred' that I do not seek peace."

"Yes. But you seek revenge."

"I do."

"And King Alfred would be willing to give you your revenge. Yet, Ivar." Heahmund leaned closer. "I do not believe that you would give up your thirst for war. I do not even believe that you would keep your word."

"What about you, priest? You did not keep your word either."

"To whom?"

"To me." There was a bitter curve to Ivar's mouth.

"To you, Ivar? Where did I break my word to you?"

"You fought for Lagertha and then you fled back to England."

"I promised to fight for you. Not to give up my life here."

"You promised I could believe in you–" Ivar's voice rose momentarily.

"Shouldn't the first vow be the one that decides whether a person is trustworthy? My first vows was to God, not to you Ivar. And you are certainly no god, no matter how you'd like to be."

"Oh," Ivar's laugh was ugly. "You've broken your vow to God long before you broke the one to me."

Heahmund recoiled as if slapped.

"But let's not digress." Ivar said, smiling in victory. "You wanted to sell me Lagertha, to save your England. I always wondered, how did you get her to come?" His smile had turned sly. "Did you lie to her, tell her what she wanted to hear?"

"Of course I did." Heahmund replied. "As I did with you."

"Oh, you could not have convinced me to take you back to England."

"I know." Heahmund nodded. "But I could with her."

"Did you tell her you love her?" Ivar asked, both cruelly amused and envious. "Did you tell her you could not quell your desire for her, that goes against all your faith?"

Heahmund snorted. "I did."

"And do you? Do you burn with desire," A disgusted twist of his mouth. "for Lagertha?" A mocking smile.

"You know I don't."

"Why?" Ivar pursed his mouth in mocking inquiry. "She is a beautiful woman. Many men have desired her and fought for her."

"She is. But my faith is not so easily shaken, nor am I controlled by my lust."

"And your heart, priest?"

Heahmund looked at Ivar surprised, amused then. "My heart? My heart is my own. And not commanded by anyone," His eyes held Ivar's in an intense stare. "no matter how beautiful or valiant."

Ivar tilted his head in surprise, smiled then, lips curling, ducking his head. He bit his lip. "I would have liked to hear you lie to her."

"No, you wouldn't have."

"You are a cunning man." Ivar said. "But I knew that. Still you surprised me. I had truly thought it would be the end of the rope for Lagertha. I did not see what you were willing to do, nor what she would be willing to do."

"No man never lies, cheats or compromises, Ivar. No one but God. And even he from time to time closes his eyes from our folly and forgives, or heaven would indeed be a lonely place. Because you are right, I did break my vows again and again. And God still saw fit to forgive me."

Ivar snorted. "Very well. So your word isn't good and mine isn't either. Where does that leave us?"

"What would you be willing to do to get Lagertha?"

"I'll get her either way, sooner or later. The question is what would you do to protect your kingdom? Would you return with me to Kattegat and give up forever on England if I did the same in turn?"

"I would. But why would you do that?"

"Who knows? It doesn't matter. I'll get you too, priest. Sooner or later. I might lie and cheat, Heahmund. But I never compromise. You can believe in »that«."

*  
WESSEX

Bjorn stormed into Alfred's study, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him against the wall. "You're having secret meetings?! With my brother? Behind all our backs?"

"Of course I do." Alfred replied calmly, despite his feet barely touching the ground any longer. "What king would I be, would I not negotiate with the enemy? And I may remind you that I do not owe you disclosure. You work for me, not I for you."

"You plan to betray us!"

"I do not."

"Huh." Bjorn leaned in close, face in a scowl. "I'm not sure I do believe you."

"I'd like to think a basis of trust has been established between us."

"Ah, I don't know. Athelstan never knew how to lie like you do."

"Would I wish to exchange you, I would keep you in my dungeons not as my honored guests." Alfred said briskly.

Bjorn let go of him then.

*

"You have met with Ivar, Heahmund." Lagertha said, when he met her that night. He was sitting on the bed and she walked towards him, running a hand over his arm, regarding him pensively. "How did you find him?"

"I did." Heahmund agreed. "He is very confident of his victory. But that was to be expected." He took her hand, kissing it.

Her other hand was threading into his hair at the nape of his neck. Her hair was falling onto his shoulder, as she leaned down to whisper into his ear. "Why was it you Alfred sent?"

"I can only begin to guess at what lead the king to that decision. I speak the language. And, without disrespect to your son, he might trust more that I will relay the true extent of the meeting to him than Bjorn or Ubbe might."

"Hmm..." She considered that, her hand still deceptively idly carding through his hair. "I would have thought that Ivar might not be too pleased to see you."

"And why is that, my love?" He met her eyes.

She smiled down at him. "After all you did turn against him and joined my side."

"I did, Lagertha." He smiled back at her. "But I cannot imagine that Ivar would have put much stock in my loyalty. After all what reason would I have had for it?"

Lagertha snorted. "You might be surprised. But tell me, what reason did you have to stay loyal to me?" She tilted her head, regarding him closely.

He met her eyes somberly. "You know that I love you, Lagertha. I have said so before. Despite the danger it means for my soul, and much more imminent at this court, should anyone find out."

"And I believe you." She leaned down and kissed him.

*

Later that night, Heahmund met with Alfred.

"What did Ivar say?" Alfred asked.

"He will not agree to a bargain. Whatever you offer him, he will not agree. He is set on war."

"That is... unfortunate." Alfred tensely stared at his cup.

"King Harald, though, might."

Alfred looked up again.

"She did after all," Heahmund continued. "kill his wife. And I am sure, with her life and a measure of treasure, he could be convinced to return to Norway. And as such become threat enough to Ivar in his homeland, for him to return. After all, they are still competing for the rule over Kattegat."

*  
YORK

"What's your interest in Bishop Heahmund?" Magnus asked, casually sitting down beside Ivar.

"He was my prisoner for a time."

"Oh, I know. No one could have missed his return to court."

"Yes?" Ivar perked up. "What was it like?"

"Aethelred almost killed him when he came upon their ship, or so I've heard. He must love Lagertha very much," Magnus added nonchalantly.

Ivar scoffed, face in a frown. "He doesn't love her. He played her, to return to England."

"Well, she trusted him with her life. And it seems once upon a time you trusted him to fight for you. What made you think you could trust him?"

Ivar tilted his head, sneering. "What makes me think I can trust you? Maybe I should just kill you."

"Oh, but I am Viking and your brother. While Heahmund's just a Christian." Magnus shrugged.

Ivar tsked dismissively. "Have you seen him fight? He is Viking."

Magnus nodded amicably. "Oh, I have. He is doubtlessly a great warrior." He paused. "Did I ever tell you what happened to me, after we met that one time?"

Ivar scowled at him, bemused by the change of topic.

Magnus did not wait for an answer, though. "Aethelwulf threw me out, almost as soon as our father repudiated me. I was fourteen, then. Was Aethelwulf trying to protect me? Maybe." He shrugged. "Still, I could have been dead at the next turn of the road. It was raining that day." He snorted. "God, it rained so heavily. I remember thinking, could he not have waited a few days until it stopped raining? Maybe he was afraid Ecbert would have me killed, now that Ragnar had denied my paternity. Well, I guess Aethelwulf had never learned to stand up to his father." He paused for a moment. "So you see, Ivar, I was a prince and then I was no one. I had a family and then I had none. I was loved and then I was dismissed."

"Am I supposed to commiserate with you now?" Ivar asked, raising an eyebrow. "You walked out of there on your own two legs so don't expect too much pity."

Magnus chuckled. "Maybe you're right, maybe I shouldn't be pitied. Maybe Aethelwulf truly loved me and was trying to protect me. Maybe he was trying to protect me when he told me to tell people I'm the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Telling people I am the son of Ragnar Lothbrok?" He laughed hollowly. "I was beaten up and thrown out at the first village I arrived at. I ate garbage and slept in the woods. I learned my lesson, though, and stopped telling people who I am. I found shelter, then, in a monastery, where I stayed as a novice. I told them I was a starving peasant who'd fled from the plague. Of course I had to hide that I already knew how to read and write. They thought me quite the prodigy." His laugh was full of contempt. "When I was sixteen, I learned of the fighting monks of Sherborne. And I joined up with them. I was there when we found Ecbert in a barrel of wine." The laugh that bubbled out of him, now, was a happy one. "I was there when we found Aethelwulf and the whole court hiding in the swamps. Aethelwulf did not even recognize me. Neither did Alfred or Aethelred, who'd been my dearest friends growing up. So, you see, Ivar, I know your bishop."

He had Ivar's full attention now. "So, you fought alongside him?" Ivar asked full of anticipation.

"Oh, yes."

"I wondered where you'd learned to fight. You didn't hesitate in battle. You weren't scared either. Not because you're crazy, but because you have experience."

"Well, I'd been trained by Aethelwulf. But my first battle experience was with the monks of Sherborne."

"So you were a priest of the Christian god, like Heahmund and Athelstan?" Ivar asked.

"Yes," Magnus smiled. "I was known as Brother Aidan."

"How can you say, then, that you're not a Christian?"

Magnus shrugged. "I did it to survive, not because I believed any of it. Not like your priest."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, he'd flaggelate himself after he'd break his vows with one of the ladies we came across. You see, your priest," Magnus chuckled. "He's not a pious man, not a good one either. He loves to sin more than anything else. To kill." He leaned in closer. "To fuck."

Ivar raised his eyebrows.

"I have no such conflict in me." Magnus went on. "Take that as proof that I believe none of it."

"Why would he hit himself?" Ivar asked, perturbed.

"As penance. Aethelwulf used to do the same."

Ivar still looked vaguely bewildered. Then he snorted. "Sounds like my priest. He doesn't regret. He doesn't vow to sin no more. He just found a way to be forgiven so he can do it all over again."

Magnus shrugged. "We all have to see how we can bend the rules in our favor, wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh, certainly. I'm the best example for that."

"Ecbert, too, knew that only too well. And our father. Even though it deserted him in the end."

"Oh, it did not." Ivar said. "He bent the rules there too. He cared for nothing but revenge on Ecbert, for his settlement. And he knew it was the only way to get it. That he'd have to die, so we'd come here. He forced our hand. He got his way, as always."

"Yet you care not at all, about this settlement?"

"It was my father's dream, not mine. I'm not a farmer."

"Not a warrior, either."

Ivar's head jerked up, staring at Magnus in disbelief, searching his face for... something. "I do wonder if every word out of your mouth is just a plea for death..."

"Oh, no, I do not seek to die." A smile, deceptively meek for a moment again.

"But, you are right. I'm not a farmer and not a warrior. I'm a king. But what are you? An opportunist? Beggar-prince-priest..."

"We will have to see how my fate reveals itself." Magnus replied. "For now, I'm a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. That's enough."

"Enough, eh?"

"It's all I ever wanted."

*

"Do you want to have a pet priest, like our father?" Magnus asked the next morning, during breakfast.

"What do you mean?" Ivar asked with a frown.

"Well, Bishop Heahmund..."

"Heahmund is nothing like Athelstan. Athelstan was weak." Ivar said disdainfully. "And I'm not like my father, either."

"Yet Athelstan fought Christians for Ragnar, while Heahmund would not do the same for you. What was it about our father, that people loved him like that? That a slave would choose him over his own people?"

"I don't want to be loved. I just want to win."

"Well, yes, love is rather fickle." Magnus agreed. "You can barely even trust your own blood. Although the love between our father and Athelstan held. You know what really rubbed me the wrong way? Back then, in the last days of our father's life, while he was Ecbert's prisoner. As I learned while talking to our brother Bjorn, seemingly our father was very happy to see Alfred, Athelstan's son. He did not call Judith a whore and claimed she'd invented Alfred's paternity. He saw Athelstan in Alfred, yet he did not see himself in me."

"Yeah, well." Ivar grimaced a smile, raising his cup. "This is all very tragic."

"Or maybe," Magnus smiled. "He only saw what he wanted and simply did not care for anymore sons." Now it was Magnus' turn to toast to Ivar.

"But, how did Bjorn know all that? I didn't know."

"Judith told him."

"Judith, huh? It surely is a time for strange alliances." Ivar looked to the door. "Oh, look, and there's King Harald."

***

I know you're a fighter  
But you never fought for me  
When I was your shelter  
'Cause you're not heading home to me  
We could be closer  
We could be closer  
We could be

(Ellie Goulding - Halcyon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I've already explored all the ways in which Ivar is sour and heart-broken at Heahmund's betrayal, I'm taking an approach here that is a bit more light-hearted, where Ivar, in a way, is fully aware that Heahmund's betrayal was a probable outcome. But all his feelings on the matter will come to light further, as the story progresses.
> 
> This is one of my favorite chapters, because Ivar and Heahmund are just so much fun to write. And, of course, because Heahmund finally shows his true colors, and I had really really hoped for the show to go that way.
> 
> And, of course, I get to explore Magnus' backstory a bit more here. His fighting skills were something I noticed in the show. Because despite being killed later, I thought he'd fought quite well, and I wondered where he might have learned it, because I doubt he'd had any battle experience at age 14.


	5. Trust, deceit and all that lies between

At least I understood the hunger, then  
And didn't have to call it loneliness

(Florence & The machine - Hunger)

***

"Him? Of all people?!" Judith exclaimed.

"Ceolnoth stood in contact with Pope Leo IV." Alfred replied sharply. "He specifically mentioned to him that he'd wish for him as his successor, and the Pope has endorsed his choice. Am I supposed to give them more reason to turn from me, by refusing the will of the Pope?"

*

Alfred stood before the assembled nobles and clergy. "Following my own judgement and with the guidance of the Lord, I have thus decided to name Plegmund of Dorchester the new Archbishop of Canterbury. May he fullwill this office as ceaselessly devoted and uncompromising as he did his last."

*

"I'd hope we could put our differences behind us." Alfred said. "For the sake of all."

Plegmund looked at Alfred with disdain. "Even if you had otherwise lived up to the title you unrightfully claimed, having a man who murdered a priest ordained into a holy office would have been enough for me to turn against you, Alfred. It is not me you've failed. It is all of us. First among them yourself and God. Decide for yourself which is the worse offense. And it is not me you will have to answer to, in the end, so try not to haggle with me over your soul."

*

Aethelred and Bjorn were sparring out in the courtyard.

"You love your brother?" Bjorn asked all of a sudden.

"Of course I love my brother! Even my father came to love him. Don't you love yours?"

"I do."

"But still you're willing to fight and possibly kill each other."

"Well, we all made our choices. Doesn't mean we're not brothers anymore." Bjorn stated.

"Family shouldn't fight each other."

"Five sons of one legendary king." Bjorn shrugged. "I'd say it was inevitable."

"One brother slaying another is against God's law. It's the most griveous sin. A man who does that will be marked by God for all to see. And he shall never find peace." Aethelred said gravely.

"Yes, but we don't believe in your god. And our gods, there brothers will fight each other all they want. And let's be honest, the gods marked Ivar before he ever killed the first of us. And peace, I think there's nothing that would terrify him more."

"I gave my brother the crown of my own choosing." Aethelred steadfastly reaffirmed. "I might not like it. And I might be angry and vain. But I will never stoop so low as to sully my soul by turning against him."

"You Christians and your beliefs." Bjorn scratched his head. "So many explanations for such simple things. Either you want to turn against him or you don't. It's your decision."

"I thought you didn't believe in free will."

"We don't. We believe in fate. But still, much less reason to agonize over your decisions."

"If you kill Ivar, how will you feel?"

Bjorn chuckled. "I don't think I'll kill Ivar."

"So you think he'll kill you?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Why fight then?"

"Why would I ever not fight? I'm fighting to protect my mother. And maybe she'll find happiness with her priest in your lands, or maybe she'll die in battle. But my little brother, he's destined to be a legendary king, just like my father. Maybe yours is too."

"It would seem so."

"What do you think you are destined to be?"

Aethelred barely needed any time to think before he answered with rueful self-irony, "I think you and me both will be nothing but footnotes in the annals of history. Maybe the place where we die will be remembered."

"Oh, I will be remembered, that much is certain. Just, maybe not as a great king. But then, that never was my ambition. What's yours?"

"I wasn't raised to have ambitions. But truth be told, I did want to be king." That bitterness, again, on his features. "Or maybe, I would have just liked someone to acknowledge that I would have been good enough for it. Otherwise the only ambition left for me in this life is to make sure my brother stays on the throne and lives a long life."

"My uncle. He had ambitions too, lots of them. He could never come to terms with my father becoming king."

"What became of him?"

Bjorn laughed. "He's king of Frankia now."

*  
YORK

It was raining heavily outside. Ivar saw Harald drape one of his furs over Magnus' shoulders. 

Beside him Hvitserk snorted in disgust.

"What's the matter, brother?" Ivar asked with only very mild interest.

"He's no brother of us. He has no pride."

"Ah, brother, don't be jealous just because this could have been you, had you made a move." Ivar laughed good-naturedly as Hvitserk stomped away seething.

*

Expectedly Hvitserk picked a fight with Magnus later that day.

By the time Ivar had heard the commotion, the two were already down on the ground, struggling in the mud. Hvitserk seemed to have the upper hand but was already bleeding from several places on his face. And with that, Ivar considered, the whole point his brother had been trying to make, was already mute. Seemed Harald's doxy wouldn't go down from just one punch, after all.

Hvitserk had Magnus pressed into the mud, punching him, when the other pulled a knife pressing it to his throat.

"That's against the rules." Hvitserk hissed outraged.

"Oh, there are rules?" Magnus considered unperturbed. "I don't care." He brought up a leg and kicked Hvitserk against the chest, throwing him off him. Then he got up, put his knife back into his boot, wiped some blood off his face, and walked out of the circle that had gathered around them.

Ivar caught his eye and waved him over, patting him on the back. With that gesture the people who'd been standing around, flummoxed, seemed to decide that the fight had been resolved in an acceptable manner, and started cheering, making good-natured fun of Hvitserk.

"That was fun." Ivar commented.

"It was." Magnus agreed.

*

Harald touched Magnus' bruised face gingerly. "Does it hurt?"

Magnus turned his face, irritated. "I am fine. Would you ask the same any other warrior?"

"Can I not care about you?"

"Have I not fought alongside you and proven myself in battle?"

"You have."

*

"They offered me Lagertha and my weight in gold if I leave." Harald told Magnus, at night as they lay together, leaning down to place a kiss between the other's shoulder blades.

"What would you want with her?" Magnus turned onto his back.

"She killed my wife."

Magnus pursed his lips in derision. "You would want your revenge given to you like scraps to a dog, instead of taking it yourself like a man?"

Harald frowned in consternation. "What would you know of that?"

Magnus climbed on top of him, unperturbed by Harald's anger. "Are you not Viking?" he whispered, tracing the tattoos on Harald's face with his tongue. "Are you not here for glory and battle?" He ground down on him on the last word. "Or," He leaned closer worrying Harald's ear between his teeth. "Are you here to kill just one woman? Lagertha and Astrid will laugh about you when they meet again in Valhalla."

Harald threw Magnus off his lap, leaning over him, breathing heavily, his face contorted in fury. His hands balled into fists beside the other's face. For a moment nothing happened. Then he sat back up, letting out a roar of anger and frustration. Beside him, Magnus laughed, still lying idly.

*  
WESSEX

"Did you like Magnus?" Bjorn asked, as they were cleaning their weapons.

"What?" Aethelred asked, confused.

"Magnus. When you were children. You grew up together."

"What do you care about Magnus?"

"You know that he's fighting for Ivar."

"Yes." Aethelred did not seem particular resentful of that. "I saw him as another younger brother, when we were children. We were close, the three of us. He was good with the sword, then already."

"Did you never wonder what became of him?"

"Yes. Of course I did. But to be honest, I did not think he could have survived out there. I'm glad he did. Alfred and Magnus were always tougher than I gave them credit for."

*

The message delivered was short and to the point. Alfred looked up at his assembled war council.

"Ivar's and Harald's troops are marching on Rochester. We have to stop them before they reach the city."

In all honesty Alfred was glad that he would not be asked to make that decision. Harald had taken the choice from him. No more political decisions would be asked of him. From now on the rest would be decided by Aethelred and the men and women who fought with him.

Bjorn had become a friend, against all odds. Alfred would not have wished to betray that trust. 

And, after all, his brother had been right, they needed to defeat the Northmen once and for all.

*  
VIKING CAMP

"Shouldn't we do a sacrifice to ask for success in battle?" Magnus asked excitedly. "I wanna see a sacrifice."

"Who should we sacrifice?" Ivar asked, amused. "You?"

Magnus laughed. "Maybe start with a goat first. Although I would make a great sacrifice." His expression turned wry. "But then again, I might still be a Christian. We wouldn't want that."

*

They sat in front of a fire, at night. The battle had not yet started. They were drinking and exchanging stories. Just now Earl Olafsonn was telling the story of Ragnarok and everyone was hanging rapt on his lips.

Magnus spoke up. "I'm not scared to unleash Ragnarok. If you ask me, it has already started. In a world where brothers will rape their sisters, fathers will take their sons' wives and brothers fight brothers." He laughed. "The end probably started, already, when two of mankind were there at the same time."

Harald looked stricken.

Hvitserk spoke up. "But that's not possible."

"Why not? Whoever said how long Ragnarok is going to take?"

"But," Gunnhild asked. "aren't you a Christian?"

"Who knows? Maybe I am. Do you think there's no end of the world in Christian religion?" Magnus leaned in closer to the fire, shadows dancing across his face. "The apocalypse. When the world burns and demons crawl out of the earth to dance in the disembowled bodies of those they tortured. And there will be eternal suffering for all those who weren't fortunate enough to be taken to heaven by Jesus before that. And seven seals will be opened that will lead to the end. And there will be four beasts and four horses. Three of them each white, red and black, who will conquer and take peace from earth. But the fourth one is a pale horse. And his name that sits on him is Death, and Hell follows with him." Magnus voice had become a low grumble, as the fire danced ever more vivid patterns onto his face that looked pale against the darkness of the night. "And power will be given unto them to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. And those who were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held, they will cry out for God to avenge their blood. And God will answer their pleas. There will be a great earthquake. And the sun becomes black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon will be as blood. And the stars of the heavens will fall unto the earth, as a tree casts off its untimely fruit. And the heavens will depart as a scroll when it is rolled together. And every mountain and island will be moved out of their places. And the kings of the earth, and the great men," He smiled into the round, through gleaming rows of teeth. "And the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every free man, will hide themselves in in the rocks of the mountains. And they will say to the mountains and rocks: Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb."

The group had fallen silent, everyone captured by Magnus' tale. Even Gunnhild and Hvitserk leaning in to better hear him. 

Ivar who'd been sitting there equally quiet, head in his hand, as he listened with a curious gaze, was the first who broke the silence that lasted even after Magnus had finished speaking. "Heahmund never told me such gripping stories. I did not know your lamb even had any wrath."

Magnus shrugged with a smile. "So it seems our world is to end either way, sooner or later, so we should celebrate while we still can." He raised his cup.

"True words." Harald raised his cup as well, clinking it against Magnus'.

Ivar threw his arms around both Harald and Magnus. "You are good friends, you don't bore me."

A little to the side, Hvitserk angrily stared into the fire, then turned to Earl Olafsonn and Gunnhild, and drank with them.

*

"Are you truly a Christian?" Harald asked Magnus later.

The other leaned close. "Does it truly matter to you? What if I am?"

"So you believe in that apocalypse? That you're all going to be punished for your sins?"

"Oh." Magnus chuckled. "We are all going to be punished for our sins. Maybe there's even heaven and hell. Whether there are angels singing or everyone feasts together, who cares? But the real punishment happens here on earth."

"I have been punished." Harald said in a soft voice.

"You made dumb decisions and now you're unhappy about them." Magnus said dismissively.

Harald stared at him affronted.

"That's maybe our greatest punishment." Magnus went on pensively. "Our stupidity. Your brother's on you, no question. But your wife died because of her own dumb decision."

"Don't speak of her that way." Harald ordered harshly.

"Why not? Would you say it was a smart decision, then?"

Harald was stunned silent.

"Maybe she wanted to die." Magnus continued his musings, unperturbed. "Why did you kill your brother?"

"I thought I had to."

"You could not forgive him?"

"I thought so."

"Think harder the next time."

Harald looked at him, crestfallen, and Magnus spoke up again. "My mother had a brother, too, whom she loved. She killed him too. Because she thought she had to."

*

They were getting ready for battle when Harald stepped over to Magnus, who as before, was standing with Ivar's people.

He painted Magnus' face. Half of it blue, from under his eye to his jaw. Not with the red Ivar's people wore.

"You fight with us."

*

This time the English were better prepared, or maybe just better used to their numbers. Their lines did not break. They did not fall into chaos and panic, allowing the Vikings to further break down their defenses, forcing them to an unordered retreat. No, they stood fast this time, unrelenting and unafraid they weathered the onslaught. 

Aethelred had learned from his past mistakes. Or maybe Heahmund had. Ivar didn't know.

*

Ivar realised no more ground would be gained today. Not at more losses than was sensible or necessary. Well then, nothing to be done about it. He ordered to give the sign for the troops to return.

Those who the last time had had easy work cutting into the lines of the Saxons and taking them out behind their own lines, this time found they'd ventured too far, and suddenly found themselves alone surrounded by enemies, their own comrades retreating.

*

One second, then suddenly Magnus was surrounded by enemies, arrows flying everywhere. A hand grabbed him. A shield placed over his head. And he's dragged from the battlefield.

"You saved me." Magnus said as he finally got to catch his breath.

"Of course I did." Harald replied, bewildered. "Are you injured?"

Magnus turned his face away. "No, I'm not."

*  
WESSEX

The English army returned from battle, back to court. They had not won, but they had held out this time. They had held their line, had not been overrun, by the combined force of Harald's and Ivar's troops. And the people treated it as what it was, an immense victory, alone the fact that the heathens were not yet roaming the castle again, as they'd done after Ecbert's death. The royal family hadn't had to flee again and live in the swamps, hidden away. That alone was enough for today.

And as Aethelred stepped in front of the people, still in his dirty armor, and spoke of the trial they had passed today and the trials still to come, people hailed him.

"I will fight for you all, for Wessex, and for my brother, the king! God was with us today and he will be again! For as David before Goliath we stood before those grand and terrible odds today, AND WE DID NOT PERISH!" Aethelred raised his sword and the crowd cheered as if he'd all but driven the heathens back into the sea.

He still felt the high of the battle, elation and sheer life flowing through his veins. He could not stop smiling. He turned his face to seek out his family. His eyes found Alfred's, and as his brother grinned back at him, easy and open, it spoke of the way they'd come together, of all their differences laid aside, of the reassurance that the bond between them remained unbroken. Then his gaze met his mother's, and the joy inside Aethelred died away, as if he'd been doused in ice water. Her eyes were hard, her expression grim, and even as she did notice his eyes on her and she smiled at him, her eyes held no warmth.

Aethelred stepped down from the podium, only hearing with half an ear as Heahmund spoke before the people, not waiting to receive whatever questionable benediction the bishop had to give. And he went inside and started drinking. Even that tasted stale.

Lord Cyneheard joined him. "We all owe you great thanks, my prince." He raised his cup.

"We all owe thanks to God." Aethelred replied.

"Certainly. A group of us will meet later. For prayers. If you'd like to join us?"

Aethelred met the man's gaze. "I would."

*

Later the celebrations were in full force. Aethelred no longer felt like sitting with his brother and mother, instead he sought out the Vikings. He pushed a cup into Bjorn's hand. "Drink with me." He took a swig from his own cup. "We fought well today."

Bjorn clinked his cup against Aethelred's. "We did. We may not have won, but we still brought honor to both of us. It was a good battle." He grinned with good-natured satisfaction.

"Next time we'll win." Aethelred nodded. "God is with us." He snickered. "Well, maybe not with you. But with me. You, he just silently suffers, like I do." He laughed loudly now and Bjorn chimed in, patting him on the back.

"I don't know." Bjorn replied, smirking. "You fought really well, too, today. I think the Valkyries might have gotten a liking for you. You best not die in the next battle or they might carry you off to Valhalla."

It spoke for how much Aethelred had had to drink already, that he laughed so hard he actually spilled his ale.

*  
YORK

Ivar was in an irritated mood after the battle, and people tried to stay out of his way, even though in general some drinking and singing was going on. Harald was displeased himself.

"Don't worry," Magnus said, appearing at his side out of nowhere. "It would be boring were they too easy to defeat, wouldn't it? Like cattle to the slaughter. We're not farmers, we're warriors." He laughed. "Come now," he then said, decisively pulling Harald with him. "I want you."

As the they lay in bed, Magnus grabbed a knife from somewhere, a mischiveous twinkle in his eyes. He ran the blade across Harald's chest, softly at first, then without warning dipping deeper, breaking the skin, in a long red line. Harald hissed more in surprise than in pain. When he sought Magnus' eyes, the other wasn't even looking at him, though, was regarding the flow of the blood, eyes clouded over. Then Magnus dipped a finger into it and brought it to his lips, only now he met Harald's eyes again. With a quick smile, Magnus lifted one of Harald's hands and dragged the tips of his fingers through the freshly welled up blood, then brought them to his own face. "Now paint me as you did before the battle."

*

Ivar was still in a sullen mood the next day. Nonetheless he sought out Magnus' company.

"Why did Ecbert kill your mother?" Ivar asked.

"To usurp her kingdom. Oh, I understood not, of course, the causes behind my mother's death. She received a royal burial. And I became King Ecbert's ward. I was schooled with him and Alfred, and Aethelred. Later I did understand, of course. But what could I do, I was at their mercy. And I even thought they cared for me. I cared for them." A slight tremor went through Magnus jaw, his lips moving without him saying anything. "And certainly, there was no more room for doubt left when I was starving on the street." He shook his head, a brittle, bitter smile pulling up the corners of his lips that where pressed into a white bloodless line. "No room for doubt at all, no. But, well, while Ecbert died in Winchester, and Aethelwulf and his family fled into the swamps, I was in a monastery, illustrating religious texts, as I hear the monk Athelstan did. I admit, though, I laughed heartily at the news. And I thought, let them find shelter in the woods and eat garbage, as I did."

"There is a lot of anger in you." Ivar said, lips pursed in a stiffled grin. "Maybe you should pray and meditate, to find in you the strength to forgive them."

*

Harald traced some of the long-faded scars on Magnus' back. "Are those from the time when you lived on the street?"

Magnus didn't even lift his face from where it lay on his folded arms. "Oh no, this is from self-flaggelation." he commented off-handedly. "We were encouraged to do so." there was a cold, sour bitterness in his words. "To ask for forgiveness for our sins."

"What were your sins?" Harald asked, silently horrified by these barbaric practises that seemed so utterly uncivilised.

"Oh," A small chortle. "That didn't actually matter all that much."

"Why did you tell all that to Ivar and not me?" Harald asked then, still in a careful hushed voice.

Magnus turned now, only halfway, only so Harald could catch a glimpse of blue eyes over one pale shoulder. "Maybe I was ashamed. Maybe I thought you wouldn't want me anymore if you knew about my time in the monastery."

Harald lunged forward, one arm propped up beside Magnus' shoulder, the other hand grabbing the other by the chin. "There is no shame between you and me. On my honor." He sat up and lifted one of Magnus' hands, kissing the inside of his palm. Then he fitted an armring around his wrist. "You are Viking." he said with emphasis. "You are mine. And I am yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, reading my own story, like "Oh, Harald, you poor fool..." xD


	6. The price to pay

Stripped to the waist  
We fall into the river  
Cover your eyes  
So you don't know the secret

(Ellie Goulding - Anything could happen)

***

Alfred looked regal, sitting there on the throne, crown and everything. This was clearly a formal affair, although Bjorn had no idea what about.

"We have not yet prevailed. But you have proven your loyalty to me and to Wessex, and such I wish to prove my loyalty to you. You will be granted the lands my grandfather promised you, to settle there. And to prove to you my honest intentions, I will send soldiers, under the lead of my brother Prince Aethelred, with you, to oversee your safety there."

*

"You send me away from court?!" Aethelred hissed under his breath, taking his brother to the side. "Do you not trust me? Have I not proven again and again, my loyalty to you?"

"I trust you, brother. That's why it is you I send. Because there's no one else to trust to put their love of me over their hate for the Northmen. Many men at court hate them, still, and hate me alike. But it has become evident that we need their prowess in fight, their insights, to overcome the combined armies of Harald and Ivar and of every Northman to reach our shores in the future. This is an opportunity we must not let pass for shortsighted gains. You are the warrior of the two of us, brother, would you disagree?"

Aethelred gritted his teeth. "No."

*

Peace was only possible if he made good on the word his grandfather had broken to Ragnar Lothbrok. There could only be peace if there could be trust. They needed to learn to live together. His brother too. So maybe it was a good thing he'd had to send him with them.

*

"Will you not come with me, Heahmund?" Lagertha asked, once more.

"You know I can't. My place is at the side of my king. But it is not forever. We will see each other again."

"Well, I see I cannot sway you." Something in her face softened. "I will miss you." She leaned in and kissed him.

*  
EAST ANGLIA

Aethelred had not spoken a word during the ride.

"You do not seem happy." Bjorn commented.

"Imagine that."

"Maybe it is you we should worry about, then." Bjorn added in good-natured mockery.

"I would not go against my brother's wishes." Aethelred replied tersely.

"Ah, yes, of course." Bjorn remarked unimpressedly. "Maybe you'll like it. We'll do a sacrifice in honor of Odin, as soon as we arrive." He smirked.

Aethelred crossed himself. "It is your right to do on your land what you will. But should you attack the Christian settlers, I will stop you."

Bjorn scrunched up his nose. "Ah, we're not interested in the settlers." It irked him, the prince's sudden hostility, when they had become something like friends, since their first campaign. And aside from Alfred there was no one here in England Bjorn had built any sort of relationship with. He felt alien here. Like a curiosity for people to watch. Reduced to being a mercenary. Fighting together with Aethelred, being in the field, it had felt like a piece of normalcy, something he could understand. There they hadn't been so different.

*

Aethelred was drunk, sitting alone, outside the settlement but not with his own camp of soldiers either.

"He sent me away." Aethelred said bitterly. "He sent me away, because my own mother doesn't trust me. Because she's poisoned his mind against me. So here I am to remain, so I'll be away from court as not to give the traitorous lords a person to rally behind."

"I do not think Alfred doesn't trust you." Bjorn said. "He speaks highly of you."

"Of course, he speaks to you." Aethelred laughed, ugly and painful. "Why shouldn't he embrace a heathen as his brother, instead of his actual brother, just as his father before him? What would you know of loyalty between brothers? You said fighting against each other doesn't mean you don't love each other. But that's exactly what it means. Even Esau forgave Jakob for stealing his birthright. Yet you and your brothers are like the sons of Jakob. Even though I do not know which of you is Joseph."

Bjorn looked at Aethelred with exasperation and lenience. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

*

"You are angry all the time." Bjorn said, two weeks into their stay. "Do you think I am not angry? My brother renounced the gods and they are surely angry. Ubbe and my mother promised Alfred we wouldn't make any sacrifices for now, as not to scare the settlers. And here I am, fighting for you, angering them even more."

"Bishop Heahmund did not seem to think it angered God, when he fought for you."

Bjorn snorted. "Heahmund does not believe in anything beside himself, just like my brother Ivar. They're much the same in that. Maybe that's why they got along so well."

"I agree, Heahmund is a hypocrite and apostate. But just like him, you had the chance to choose death if it's so unbearable to be here for you." Aethelred returned bittingly.

"Ah, now, that would be a meaningless death." Bjorn got up with resolution. "I have to make a sacrifice. I do not care what my mother says."

"I'm not going to stand by and–"

"Then don't." Bjorn spread his arms in annoyance. "Go away and sulk because your family doesn't love you. Like my little brother did for years."

Aethelred jumped forward an punched him then.

Bjorn laughed, wiping blood from his mouth. "Now, that is more like it." He hit right back.

Soon into their scuffle, Aethelred got knocked off his feet, but got up immediately, tackling Bjorn with a scream. As they wrestled with each other, Bjorn ripped the cross that had come loose under Aethelred's tunic, from his throat, holding it up. "You're not strong enough to fight me, little princeling." Bjorn chuckled. "And neither is your god." He flung the necklace away into the pigsty behind them.

Aethelred let out a howl, headbutting him, attacking him so aggressively, that suddenly Bjorn lost his footing and they both went down, this time. Aethelred came down on top, punching Bjorn in the face again, for good measure. He was breathing heavily, blood running down from nose and mouth. "Still it seems you were the one running to us for help, and it's our lands that are blessed with good crops."

"True." Bjorn said, bucking up under Aethelred, kneeing him into the ribs, then elbowing him into the face, throwing him off. The other landed with a grunt of pain. Bjorn got up, regarding the other warily. When he saw that Aethelred wasn't getting up again, he let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his head.

They just stared at each other a moment longer, Aethelred breathing heavy and pained, his eyes burning with anger, before Bjorn turned around and walked off.

*

A day later, Aethelred was still nursing the effects of the fight. His cheekbone and nose were colored a mottled black and blue and he couldn't contain a wince whenever he moved.

He saw Bjorn coming towards him, covered in mud from head to toe. Bjorn made an expectant hand gesture. Aethelred only looked at him quizzically.

"Your hand." Bjorn reiterated impatiently.

"No." Aethelred simply replied.

Bjorn rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, grabbing Aethelred's hand and dropping a lump of mud, old grass and as it smelled pig shit, into it.

Aethelred was tempted to smash it right into Bjorn's face, when he noticed something solid underneath the filth.

"I shouldn't have done that." Bjorn said with a shrug, rubbing his beard with the heel of his palm.

"No, you shouldn't have." Aethelred agreed, walking over to where a jug of water stood, rinsing off the cross in his hand. "Thank you." he added. "It is not you I am angry with." He snorted. "To my surprise. So I should not have picked that fight in the first place."

"Well, since we're both reasonable adults and that's settled." Bjorn said. "I'm still going to do my sacrifice later."

Aethelred gave him a measured look. "It is your cattle after all." he simply said then, shaking his head.

*

As simple as that, peace and goodwill seemed restored between them. It puzzled Bjorn, but he wasn't gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe the mercurial prince, like him, just needed a friend. And truly it seemed that's what they were. For Bjorn found he cared about him. He hadn't had many friends in his life. Not like his father who'd had many, until they'd all died, all but Floki. And maybe Floki, too, was dead by now. Maybe it would be for the better. He would not recognize Kattegat if he returned. He would not recognize most of them. Bjorn did not quite recognize himself. And, yet, here he was contemplating friendship with this Christian prince. Bjorn had people who looked up to him, with whom he shared camaraderie. But not friends. Bjorn had family, he had his brothers. And then there'd been Halfdan, the only real friend he'd had. He felt like he could have something like that again with Aethelred. It seemed absurd, but also very real. He was his father's son, how absurd could it be? It bode not well, though, that Aethelred had the same codependent relationship to his brother as Halfdan to Harald. The warrior brother to a king. It was an ungrateful position. Aethelred was much more resentful than Halfdan had been, and at the same time far less independent. But Halfdan had been older than Aethelred when he'd chosen his own path the first time. Maybe Aethelred would too, in time. Alfred was not as ambitious as Harald if maybe as bad with women. But he, too, was still very young.

"What are you thinking about?" Aethelred asked.

"A friend I had."

"What happened to him?"

"He was killed by his brother." He saw the disturbed look on Aethelred's face. "They loved each other dearly. Halfdan had protected him all his life. But when he chose his own path Harald could not accept it."

"Harald? King Harald?"

"Yes."

Aethelred made a disgusted face. "Let's see if I can not kill him in the next battle."

Bjorn laughed. "You're so judgemental. About everything. I wonder if there's anything you don't have an opinion on."

"Everyone has an opinion on everything. How can you not have an opinion about something?"

Bjorn shrugged. "There are so many things I just don't care about."

"That's just lazy." Aethelred scoffed. 

"Maybe. Yes. It's good to be lazy sometimes." He laughed in genuine amusement. "You're not like him at all, despite that obsessive relationship to your brothers."

"There's nothing obsessive about it." Aethelred said, dismissive of Bjorn's words. "We can't all be lazy about our affections."

Bjorn laughed again. "Lazy about my affections?" He tilted his head. "Maybe you're right."

"What was he like?" Aethelred asked, then. "Your friend."

"Easy-going." Bjorn grinned, reminiscent and a little teasing. "Like me. Not so high-strung as you are all the time."

"It's called responsibility." Aethelred rolled his eyes.

"He once told me he just wanted to live life to its fullest."

"And did he?"

"I hope so." Bjorn's gaze was far away for a moment. Then he chuckled, "Once in the desert, he fucked a woman who turned out to be a man."

"What?!" Aethelred stared at him, scandalized, and Bjorn started laughing for real.

*

"What did you mean? Lazy about your affections..." Aethelred asked, later that day.

"You said that." Bjorn reminded him.

"Yes. But you agreed."

"I was in love once. My first love. Mother of my child. After that..." He pursed his lips. "I think I took the easy way. Lust, affection. I wasn't around long enough to get attached."

"Not Torvi, then."

"No." Bjorn smiled ruefully. "Her name was Thorunn. I was young and green, then. We were both not ready for any of it."

"What happened?"

"She left me."

"Why?"

"She didn't say. She was just gone one day."

"That's awful!"

"Yeah. But it was years ago. But I would be lying if I said I didn't wonder about her from time to time. I hope she found what she was looking for."

*

Aethelred looked at the Vikings who were busily farming under Lagertha's supervision. In the background, the local church stood, as if supervising their efforts as well.

"Everything is constantly changing." Aethelred said. "I don't know how to keep up."

"Don't try to." Bjorn said. "You can't keep up. Just let go."

"I miss my father." Aethelred admitted suddenly. "Every day. Do you miss yours?"

Bjorn nodded somberly. "All the time. He always called me out on my shortcomings. But he was proud of me too. To me he was the greatest man in the world."

"And mine to me."

"My father once told me I had the mind of a boy in the body of a man. I think I've not grown all that much from then, still my decisions are often too rash."

"What would your father say of the place we find ourselves now?"

"He'd be happy. It's all he ever wanted. Us all to work together. Peace. Understanding."

"Mine... If my father were still alive." Aethelred made a wide gesture at their surroundings. "None of this would have happened." He paused. "If I'm being honest, if I'd become king, none of this would have happened. I'd have killed you the second you set foot off your ship."

Bjorn smiled lopsidedly. "Too bad."

"That's why I couldn't become king. My mother was right. As surreal as all of this is... That we'd find ourselves here as allies... I think my brother is right. And, when you look at it, for all the time the world existed, enemies always learned to become allies."

"Wouldn't you say we're friends?" Bjorn asked earnestly.

Aethelred paused, taken off guard, he looked Bjorn straight in the eye. "Yes. Yes, I think we are, Bjorn Ironside."

"Good." Bjorn simply said, smiling.

*  
WESSEX

"You sent away your brother, the only one who can protect us." Plegmund said accusingly.

"It is not forever." Alfred replied.

"Are you not ashamed? You court these heathens and take the glory for your brother's deeds."

"Careful. You might start to sound like a traitor."

"I am the Archbishop of Canterbury. I hold the most prestigious clerical office in the realm. The holy father himself has commended me on my clerical writings. You would not dare to have me killed. Or are you going to set your hound on me? Will I be murdered at Sunday Mass at my altar, in front of the whole court?"

"Of course not." Alfred replied sharply.

"You can spare troops to protect the pagan settlement, when you had none to protect your own people." Plegmund said scathingly, for all the nobles to hear. "Let me inform you that I have written to the Pope, to let him know of your ungodly conduct."

*  
EAST ANGLIA

When he walked into Aethelred's room the other was lying on his bed, one hand inside his trousers.

Aethelred didn't seem able to decide whether he was trying to scramble off the bed or to throw a blanket over himself.

"Can't you knock?!"

Bjorn regarded him curiously. "Didn't know you did that."

"What?"

"I mean, so much is forbidden for you guys."

Aethelred just stared at him incredulously. "Get out, Bjorn."

The other lifted his hands pacifyingly, a barely smothered smirk on his face, and left.

*

Two of the shieldmaidens, Hilda and Gudrun walked up to him. "Hey Bjorn," Hilda started. "Can't you introduce us to Aethelred. He's cute."

"Yes." Gudrun agreed. "We want to know if he's up for a bit of fun. But we don't speak the language and their customs are so strange. We can't just approach him."

Bjorn shrugged, a little caught off guard. "Yes. Sure. I can talk to him." He didn't actually know how Aethelred stood to this topic, even though there certainly seemed to be demand. But who knew with these Christians?

*

"Hey Aethelred." he indeed brought the topic up later, while they were sparring. "You wanna give your fist a break, there are a couple of shieldmaidens who are interested in you."

"God, you're crude." Aethelred retorted, blocking Bjorn's axe. Then the actual words caught up with him. "What? Really?"

"Yeah. Those two over there. The blond with the braids and the redhead with the axe."

"Are they... What are their expectations?"

"They want to fuck you." Bjorn laughed. "Not marry you."

*

"Had fun?" Bjorn asked, pleased with himself, when Aethelred returned, in the evening. And Bjorn had to admit the other hadn't wasted time to get down to business. Not as much of a prude as he had expected.

"Oh, I did." Aethelred lifted Bjorn's cup off the table and finished it off, sitting down beside him.

"Hey!"

"I need it more than you do."

"So you actually managed to perform satisfactorily?" Bjorn teased. "I had my doubts."

Aethelred seemed unbothered by the goading, smiling at Bjorn self-satisfied through half-lidded eyes. "Have to say that was something. I've never slept with two women at the same time."

"No?"

"No Christian lady–"

"Not even a prostitute?" Bjorn asked, truly perturbed.

"I don't go to prostitutes."

Bjorn wiggled his hand. "I know, I know, sinful. You never really had a rebellious streak, did you?"

"I spent most of my adolescences in a swamp. And then there was war. And then I actually already had a girl I'd promised myself to. That ended with Heahmund killing her father. Best laid plans." He shrugged.

"So, you only slept with one woman before those two?" Bjorn asked horrified.

Aethelred rolled his eyes again. "No. I slept with a couple girls in the swamps and later at court, too. I simply said I didn't frequent brothels."

"Isn't it kind of selfish to sleep with girls who will be dishonored if they're no longer virgins, instead of sleeping with women who's job it is?"

Aethelred was quiet for a struck moment. "Like you're one to talk. You slept with enough girls at court, since you arrived."

Bjorn raised an eyebrow. "I come from a culture where we consider women able of making that choice themselves."

Aethelred sighed deeply. Suddenly their conversation had taken a much more serious turn again. "I find it hard to let go of principles that have been ingrained in me since my childhood." he said, haltingly, pensive. "But I cannot objectively deny the truth of it. I would have to be blind to still try to deny it." He was quiet for a moment. "A lot of the things we do are wrong. I think Alfred will change that. I don't think I would have."

Bjorn regarded him intently. "I think you're giving yourself too little credit. You are maybe my favorite Christian." He grinned.

"Not Alfred?" Aethelred was grinning too.

"No." Bjorn shook his head. "You."

"I would be lying if I returned the sentiment. Ubbe and Torvi are much more polite and actually try to fit in." He was right-out laughing now.

"Obviously that's why you hang with me all the time."

"To lead you off your wicked ways." Aethelred nodded with mock-gravity.

*

"So, swamps, huh?" Bjorn picked up the new information he'd gotten the other day.

"Yeah." Aethelred agreed.

"How was that?"

"Sure a change from the royal villa. Mostly wet and inhospitable. We lived in tents."

"Not quite up to your standards." Bjorn grinned, stretching on his chair.

"Oh, I didn't mind that. But the climate wasn't good for Alfred's health. He was sick all the time." Aethelred's features darkened. "It made my parents become closer, though. The misery. The lack of everything. We got closer, all of us. Out there. A family. And then Heahmund came and saved us. And I thought he was the greatest man alive. I thought if I could only be half the man he is..." He smiled ruefully.

"Yeah, well, the good bishop." Bjorn said full of irony. "If it helps any, I think he cares a lot more about your god than about my mother."

"It's not just that."

"Yeah. I know. Cuthred."

"Ecbert taught Alfred and Magnus that nothing matters, as long as you win. But my father taught me right and wrong. Or at least he tried. I have to make it up as I go, I guess."

"Alfred has a good sense of right and wrong." Bjorn reassured the other. "Ecbert couldn't change that. Just like he could never change Athelstan's mind."

"My father said we have to live by the word of God. My brother says we have to change. And Ecbert loved most those texts that were written before Jesus was even born. I believe in God." Aethelred reiterated like there had been any doubt, voice torn. "But my father was wrong about a lot of things. And my mother was only truly happy with Ecbert. I love my mother as much as my father, for all her sins."

"You should." Bjorn paused. "My father didn't believe that our gods need to be enemies."

"In the old testament there are so many things declared sinful. But Jesus taught us to forgive. I find it easy to forgive my mother for her infidelity, even though she does not regret. But I cannot forgive Heahmund." He shook his head unwillingly. "Is there no sin in your religion? Can you just live and do whatever you wish, being accountable to nothing?"

"No. We have laws. But we don't try to punish ourselves for being human."

*

"We should go hunting." Bjorn announced, entering the hall where the English soldiers were having breakfast.

Aethelred looked up from his porridge.

"You do hunt, don't you?" Bjorn asked indulgently.

"Oh, I do hunt." Aethelred agreed, smirking.

"I sense a bet coming on."

"If you dare. I'm an excellent marksman."

"We'll see." Bjorn agreed complacently.

"Let's waste no more time, then." Aethelred abandoned his breakfast and got up.

*

"How was the hunt, son?" Lagertha asked when the two returned.

"It was good." Bjorn said casually.

~  
The bear broke through the trees, running straight towards them.  
~

Lagertha looked at Bjorn's wet, muddy clothes, giving him a questioning look.

~  
Aethelred took a step back losing his footing on the wet leaves. Bjorn turned around, trying to grab him, only to slip himself. They both tumbled down the slope without anything to hold onto but more leaves. Aethelred was the first to hit the surface of the murky pond. By the time he'd struggled upright again Bjorn slammed into him, throwing them both into the water, with a loud splash, in a tangle of limbs.  
~

"Anything special?" Lagertha asked.

~  
"Fuck fuck fuck! Oh shit!"

"Oh God! Oh God!"

The bear slithered down the steep slope right after them, Aethelred and Bjorn struggling to their feet, trying to climb up the other side of the pit but slipping back halfway.  
~

"No. It was fine." Bjorn shrugged. "We killed a bear, though."

~  
"I won." Aethelred stated, tying the dead pheasant and the three rabbits to his horse.

"Yeah, well." Bjorn groused. "You got lucky."

"You don't even believe that yourself." Aethelred laughed unimpressedly. "We'll send men back for that." he added, as he saw Bjorn tinkering with the dead bear. They laughed about it now, but it had been a bit touch-and-go, down there, for a moment. And they had both been a lot more scared than either of them would ever admit to the other. "Aren't you actually his namesake?" Aethelred asked, smiling lopsidedly.

"I didn't know you knew any of our language." Bjorn said with a surprised smile.

"I picked up a few words."

"You're right."

"He didn't seem to care much about that." Aethelred joked on.

"No, he really didn't." Bjorn scratched his mud-covered beard.

"The great Bjorn Ironside, screaming like a girl." Aethelred added mock-wistfully.

"Hey, usually they don't tumble on top of me. And you were the one screaming."

"I couldn't have screamed if I wanted to." The real hazard had been after the bear had been successfully defeated and had decided to spend his death throes on top of Aethelred, nearly drowning him in the puddle that was after all deep enough to reach to their knees. "You took your sweet time there."

"Have you tried lifting a dead bear, before? If it's so easy you can just carry this one back, piggy-back."

"You're taller than me." Aethelred shrugged unbothered.

"Really, that's your excuse?"

"It was a good enough excuse for Alfred when we were kids, it's a good enough excuse for me now."  
~

"Really? That's quite impressive." Lagertha praised.

Bjorn preened a bit. "Ah, that was nothing."

"Anything else happen?"

~  
They stopped at a stream, both clearing off their dirty clothes, before stepping into the water.

Suddenly Bjorn felt Aethelred's hand on his back.

"You're injured."

"Just a scratch."

Still Aethelred's scrutiny didn't leave him. "You're all so heavily tattooed, even in the face. But you have only this small one on your face. At first I thought it a scar. What does it mean?"

"It protects me against curses. It helps me see clearly, unaffected by witchcraft. That shouldn't be so odd to you. You believe in witchcraft, too."

"That is true. But I think, the real point here is, that you're too vain to tattoo your whole face." Aethelred grinned in mischief.

Bjorn splashed water in Aethelred's face. The other spluttered indignated, splashing right back.

It went on for longer than two grown men should have been able to entertain themselves with these kind of games.

"Actually," Bjorn laughed, still catching his breath. "You still got blood there." He cupped water into his palm, lifting it to rinse the dried blood of Aethelred's face. Then just reached out and rubbed the persistant smudges off with his hand, as his mother had done countless times with him. For a stretching moment it didn't seem weird at all to be swiping his thumb over Aethelred's forehead as the other stood still and just let him.

Maybe he should have flicked his nose, once he was finished, or splashed some more water in his face. But he just stood there, regarding his handy-work. For a moment neither spoke.

"There, all done." Bjorn eventually said, just to say something into the sudden unexplicable heavy silence.

"We should head back."

"Yeah, we should."  
~

"Nah."

"Well," Lagertha concluded. "I'm glad you boys had fun."

*

Aethelred groaned, stretching out his back. "God. By tomorrow, I won't be able to move any longer."

"Yeah, that bear got you good."

Aethelred gave him a searing look. "That was when you landed on me, on your dive down the hill. Now I know why they gave you that name. You weigh about the same."

Bjorn grunted in something remotely like amusement. "What can I say, I'm imposing."

"Yes, it was really imposing when you landed face first in the mud."

"Hey, I hurt my knee when I landed on you."

"Want me to kick your other knee so they match?"

Bjorn chuckled. "Hey, you should get the bear pelt. You can put in on your bed. So instead of the bear lying on you, you can lie on him." He guffawed.

*

Bjorn cut the goat's throat, collecting the blood in a bowl. He painted his face with it, thumb drawing stripes under his eyes, in a line through his lips to his chin. A rune on his forehead.

Then he saw Aethelred, standing somewhere a little behind the circle of people. He hadn't been there earlier. Bjorn had not seen him arrive. But here he was, staring at Bjorn, brows furrowed in not exactly disgust, more bemusement, as Bjorn had felt many a time at the Christian rites.

As Bjorn made his round, sprinkling the faces of the people with blood, on impulse, he flicked some of it into Aethelred's face.

They both stood there, in a moment of stunned silence. Then Aethelred's fist hit his face.

By the quick intervention of Lagertha and Ubbe the confrontation could be ended and the sacrifice finished without further ado. Aethelred cornered Bjorn, though, later on.

"Do you think you can just provoke me like this for your own entertainment?!"

"Well, you're pretty entertaining."

Aethelred backed up on him. "What do you want, huh? What reaction are you looking for?"

Bjorn moved in too, using the full impact of his height to loom over the other, who had to look up to still meet his eyes, baring his throat in the process, where an angry pulse beat. Bjorn knew it had been stupid. He'd thought it was funny at the time. And now he couldn't back down.

They stood fixed like that, far too close, trying to stare the other down from a distance that was only good for headbutting or kissing. Spur of the moment Bjorn touched his forehead against Aethelred's and pushed further, trying to make the other back down, back off. An intimidation that had worked many times, but here only had the effect that he felt Aethelred's breath against his lips as if he was speaking right against them.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Aethelred asked, voice rough.

"Cursing's a sin." Bjorn reminded him, thinking that he should really take a step back but remaining where he stood.

Aethelred's palm jabbed hard against Bjorn's chest and he finally took a step back, then another, slowly bringing distance between them again.

"You're such a fucking freak, sometimes." Aethelred murmured.

*

Bjorn woke up in the middle of the night, jerking upright.

"What the fuck?!" he cursed, drenched all over. "What the fuck is that?!"

"Holy water." Aethelred stood beside his cot, bucket still in hand, grinning with glee. "Don't start fights you can't finish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once a more light-hearted chapter. The only one.^^


	7. The Archbishop of York

Oh it's the curse of man  
Always living life, living live  
Living just to please

(Imagine Dragons - Mouth of the river)

***

EAST ANGLIA

"We've been recalled to court." Aethelred told Bjorn. "It looks like my brother has yet found use for me."

*

By the time they left East Anglia, winter had fully settled over the land and everything was covered in layers of white. The world was frozen in time, uncaring that the tiny creatures crawling on top of her refused to settle down and wait until nature awoke again.

Bjorn and Aethelred were riding side by side, both covered in white furs as to blend in with the snow frosted landscape surrounding them.

"Do you think he's going to attack?" Aethelred asked. "It's winter, what could be gained from an attack now? It will be to a disadvantage for both sides."

"Oh yes," Bjorn replied. "Ivar will definitely attack. Especially because no one expects it. And he does not care that you want to celebrate your Christmas, that much is for sure." He did not say that winter was always a difficult time for Ivar, and especially since he was feeling more vulnerable he'd strike out. That was none of Aethelred's business.

Snowflakes had collected on Aethelred's hair and Bjorn reached over to brush them away.

"I like winter." Aethelred said.

"Yeah?"

"It's pristine. Makes you forget how ugly everything is most the time."

*  
YORK

Several hundred kilometers away, Harald and Magnus were standing in front of a frozen lake outside the city gates, both also dressed in heavy furs.

Just now Magnus was stepping onto the frozen lake, with small, graceful steps. 

Harald stretched out a hand, worry on his face. "Come back, this is not save."

Magnus turned his head, doing a twirl on the ice, a smile on his face that was red already from the cold. "Whatever that is fun is save? Don't worry, I've done this countless times as a child." He kept walking, unafraid and dexterous. When he was several meters in, he turned around to grin at Harald's discomfort, who was still standing at the shore. He stomped down once for good measure and then giggled at Harald's expression of alarm. "Would you come and save me, if I fell in?" Magnus asked, eyes twinkling with that slightly unnatural mirth that sometimes seemed to well up behind his eyes.

"Yes. Of course." Harald said tersely. "Now come back. Please." He reached out a hand.

And this time Magnus came, nimbly running across the frozen surface without slipping. When he was almost to the shore again, he stopped, reaching out a hand. "Come." he said.

Harald groused unwillingly, but still took the few steps onto the ice. Magnus threw his arms around him, pulling him close, then stomped again onto the ice violently, making it crash under them. They both sank knee deep into the icy water. Harald cursed in shock. Magnus did not let go of him, but laughed uncontained, even as the other lifted him and simply carried him out of the water.

"Not so bad, now, was it?" Magnus asked, mirthfully once the other had set him down again.

"You're insane." Harald said, rattled.

Magnus smiled broadly. "Ah, but you knew that." He tackled Harald, throwing them both into the snow, and proceeded to kiss him, icy lips touching Harald's.

Harald kissed him back, a hand burrowing in the other's blond shock of hair. Feeling as always that vexing mixture of unease and affection that had characterized his relationship to Magnus from the beginning. It seemed he was bound to never truly know the person he'd given his heart to. He'd spent years dreaming of a woman who'd never wanted him. He'd never truly understood Astrid, that much was certain. But he thought, he could spent decades with Magnus and he'd never be able to understand him. He could not even truly say what drew him to him like that. Was it as simple as the fact that Magnus had approached him, when usually he was used to pursuing and being denied? Not really, no. Magnus made him curious, when maybe he should have simply said that he was Ivar's even crazier brother. But it wasn't as simple as that. Harald had never enjoyed Ivar's company. Ivar made his skin crawl, he was always wary of him. Magnus made him uneasy too, but he fascinated him. He made Harald want to know more, just to leave him with answers he didn't understand. Well, what was he even looking for explanations here, that were all lacking in their own way? Who could really untangle the mysteries of a person's heart? The heart operated by it's own rules. And no dictation of reasons would make it see reason.

He untangled himself from his lover. "Now we have to get changed. Before we catch out deaths in this weather."

Magnus made a dismissive hand gesture, but let Harald pull him to his feet and followed him back to camp.

*

Ivar looked at them somewhat curious somewhat bemused, when they walked in, soaking-wet in this kind of weather.

"We fell into the lake," Magnus informed him jovially. "Harald was scared." He jabbed the aforementioned in the side. "Weren't you?"

Harald grumbled something unintelligible and continued to take his boots off.

Ivar stared in disbelief as Magnus sat down and stretched out his legs towards Harald. "Take mine off, too."

Harald only smiled at him in exasperated fondness, and did so.

To his surprise, Ivar had to concede that they looked like they were having fun.

*  
WESSEX

"So, brother, what is it you need?" Aethelred asked tightly, taking off his thick gloves. "Have you word of an impending attack?"

"Brother." Alfred said softly. "None of this. It is Christmas. Do you not think I'd have you with your family?"

"That's just unpractical." Aethelred turned around. "I have to look after my men."

Alfred grabbed his arm. "Brother. Stop. Can you not forget your ire at me?"

"I'm not angry, my king."

"I love you, Aethelred. I did not send you away because I don't trust you. How could you ever think that? I've always trusted you most of all."

"Not mother?" Aethelred joked hollowly.

"No. You. You're my brother. You're the person closest to me in this world. I trust you. Please trust me too."

Some of the hardness left Aethelred's face. "I still have to look after the men. I'll see you later, little brother."

*

Bjorn turned to leave, but Aethelred grabbed him by the arm. "Celebrate Christmas with us. You and your mother." Ubbe, Torvi and their children would anyway, would be at Mass with them later, singing praises they didn't believe in.

Bjorn looked at him surprised.

"I'm not asking you to come to church." Aethelred followed up quickly. "Just, join us for dinner. Christmas is about family. And right now, Bjorn Ironside, you're the closest friend I have in this world. And while I know it's not the same as you celebrate, maybe we can still join in a kindred spirit."

"Alright." Bjorn shrugged, being touched beyond what he was willing to voice. "Don't make such a production out of it. You want us to come to dinner, we'll come to dinner."

Aethelred smiled at him. "Good."

*

Alfred and Ubbe exchanged meaningful glances when Bjorn and Lagertha arrived, both in their best garments, and it was Aethelred who greeted them and pulled out a chair for Lagertha.

"Merry Christmas." Alfred said, smiling. "Welcome. I'm happy to see you here. I'm glad my brother had the presence of mind to do what I so carelessly neglected."

*

"Did you see that coming?" Ubbe asked Alfred later, as they all sat in pleasant conversation, drinking mulled wine, while a couple of musicians played softly in the background.

"I certainly did not." Alfred replied amused. "It would seem what we perceived to be the greatest hurdles of our endeavor will be the ones to truly push it forward."

"Seems peace between our people is indeed possible, if those two can become friends."

*

Heahmund spent Christmas alone. He had been at the Christmas sermon held by Archbishop Plegmund. A rather positive sermon, he had to add. Not reminding them of hellfire and their own shortcomings but speaking of love and hope. How they should all come together in understanding, which was certainly more than he'd have expected of the man.

He could not say he was overly disappointed not having to spent the night with Lagertha, pretending love and harmony. But he could not stay with the other lords either, who were celebrating. There was no room for him. They were Plegmund's flock. Among them he was nothing but a sinner. Had he been at Sherborne, he would surely have been busy enough. But in the wake of all things that had come to pass, that place was soiled for him too.

So he spent the night in the solitude of his room. Cleaning his sword while singing the praises of the Lord that reveberated against the walls of his room in something like loneliness. And even while he sang of love, forgiveness and peace for all the world, he idly wondered whether Ivar would attack again before the winter was over and when he'd be able to leave the stiffling walls of Winchester again.

And later on when the silence of his room became inacceptable altogether, he found a random lady who'd just left the feast. One of those who still watched him with the same worshipful eyes. He took her back to his room and fucked her, and felt nothing, nothing at all, during it. And in the back of his mind he could almost already hear Plegmund and Alfred telling him that he was the worst sinner of all. And somewhere there in the background, Ivar was laughing.

*

Two days later, Alfred collapsed during a feast, in front of the entire court.

"What is wrong with him?" Bjorn asked, as they carried Alfred away.

"He's had this affliction before." Aethelred replied. "No one knows what it is."

*

When Alfred came to, he saw Bjorn sitting in his room.

"How are you?" the other asked, when he saw Alfred awake.

"Weak. Tired." Alfred replied with the resignation of someone's who'd gotten used to it by now. The sickness having lost it's terror to him, if not it's after effects.

"My younger brother, Ivar. You've met him, so you know." Bjorn smiled for a moment. "Weakness of the body doesn't mean weakness of the mind. And the latter is the far more dangerous."

"Thank you for saying that." Alfred said, sitting up.

"Ah, it is true. The ex-wife of my brother Ubbe once told me a story, a conversation between her and my younger brother, who is dead now. He asked her why she was scared of Ivar when he was nothing but a cripple. And she said that Ivar's the most terrifying man she's ever known. She was mad by then, but she still was right."

"I'm afraid, I'm not particularly terrifying." Alfred smiled half-heartedly.

Bjorn frowned in dismissal. "You'll learn."

*

"So the king is weak." One of the bishops in assembly said.

Aethelred stepped forward. "It is true, my brother's had this affliction for years. But he's always survived it. That doesn't make him weak, that makes him strong. Most people die of a fever when they get it. My brother, your king, has been tried and tested again and again. And he's always come out of it the victor. Protected by our Lord."

*

"Are you alright?" Bjorn asked, lightly bumping his shoulder against Aethelred's as he passed him in the hallway, the other just having left Alfred's chamber.

"He will be fine." Aethelred replied preoccupiedly.

"I don't need you to tell me what you tell everyone else." Bjorn replied with mild irritation.

Aethelred actually spared him a harassed glance now. "Let's go outside, I need some air."

"I worry." Aethelred said, as they were walking in the gardens surrounding the royal villa. "Every time. He's been sick since he was little, and I know how strong he is. And still I worry. I prayed. What else can I do? And I visit and talk to him. Even during the times he cannot hear me."

"Of course you worry. Ivar was ill too. Often. As an infant he was in constant pain. I barely took notice of all that. I was rarely around. My sister–"

"You have a sister?"

"I had one. My mother's child. She died of a fever. A fever Athelstan survived when so many didn't. Her last words were –so my mother tells me– to pray for Athelstan. I wasn't there. I was somewhere else. Where my father met his second wife. Gyda's death hit me hard. So much harder than Sigurd's death. But think, Athelstan survived that fever. His son will too. Your god loves the two of them."

Aethelred smiled. "Yes. Yes, I think he does."

Bjorn smirked mischievously, throwing an arm around Aethelred's shoulder, leaning in conspiratorily. "My gods would love you if they knew you. And by now I think they do. You've made enough noise on the battlefield."

*

His mother asked him to her rooms to dine together. Which was unusual. Normally they all ate together or each when they had time.

Judith looked at her oldest son. "The clergy is against your brother. Heahmund is the only one supporting him, and he's equally hated. People wish to see you on the throne."

"Mother," Aethelred ground his jaw at the pointless argument they'd had so often he felt only tired hearing it, not even truly indignated any longer. "you know I would not go against my brother. I only seek to protect him."

"And you can." Judith smiled. "You can. And it is you alone, who can solve both our problems."

"What are you asking?" Aethelred asked warily, knowing his mother's plans never considered his future.

"What we need is another warrior bishop. Who better to lead us against the Northmen than a man wearing the cross on his shield? No one would ask a man of the cloth to take the crown."

"Mother, you cannot be serious–"

"Oh, Aethelred, we all know how pious you are. Humbling both me and your brother with your rigtheousness. Much like your father. Would it be such a high price to pay? When your line continuous with your brother?"

"We both know it doesn't, mother." Aethelred said bitterly.

Judith gave him a harsh look. "Is my blood so much less worth than that of your father's? Am I of so little importance in your eyes?"

"Mother, I did not mean–"

"What did you mean?!"

*

"Brother," Alfred said. He still looked pale, but he had otherwise recovered, as he always did. "You don't have to do this. I can not ask this of you."

"You didn't." Aethelred replied tonelessly. "She did."

"Not on my behalf."

"No. No, I know." Aethelred took Alfred's hand. "I know you're not to blame for any of this, little brother." He paused. "Alfie... don't let her ruin your life." He laughed hollowly. "But I think you at least, are strong enough not to let her control you."

"What about you, brother? No happiness for you?"

"No." Aethelred smiled ruefully. "No happiness for me."

"Then I cannot do it."

"But you'll have to. You have to, or they'll find a way to let you have an accident or to fall sick."

"They wouldn't dare."

"You know they would. You fear it. And I can't be there all the time to protect you."

"Brother... I can never repay you for this."

"No." Aethelred agreed. "But you don't have to."

*

"Archbishop of York." Aethelred said bitterly. "One of the highest honors in the realm. Alas, I have such become no longer a prince of the realm but a prince of the church." He raised his cup to Bjorn mockingly. Then poured it out without drinking. "I will never have a wife. I will never have a family. My father's line will die out with me."

"Why did you agree?"

"Because she's right. It is the solution for our problems. I cannot be used against my brother any longer. To them he's just a boy. A bastard at that. They're maybe going to respect him in a couple of years, when he's proven himself. My brother doesn't have a few years."

"You truly do love him."

"Of course. And ultimately, I am of little consequence, whether I have offspring or not."

"So, you won't fight with us any longer?"

"Oh, I will. I will. Just like Heahmund. And just like Heahmund I've become a hypocrite, fulfilling this holy office for politics. What will I tell my maker when I step before him?"

"That you looked after your brother?" Bjorn suggested. "Isn't there this story in your book? About being your brother's keeper?"

*

They'd been talking and drinking well into the night. What a way to start his first day in the office. But right now he did not think about these things. Right now he was laughing about all and nothing.

"Maybe you should convert too." Aethelred proposed jokingly. "We could found another order of warrior monks." He got up standing in front of Bjorn, dangling the cross around his neck in front of Bjorn's face. "Do you renounce your wicked ways?"

"Ah," Bjorn chuckled. "I'll never renounce my wicked ways." He grabbed the cross and pulled Aethelred down to him by it.

They remained like that for a moment, neither saying anything. Close enough that their noses almost touched, staring. This time no hostility or aggression in the tension between them, still, a lingering dare that neither could quite grasp yet.

"What now, huh?" Bjorn asked, then, a question that seemed to catch them both off guard, minds catching slowly up with their bodies steered by drink.

Aethelred squared his shoulders, flustered for a moment. "Let go."

*

"Brother, you once ordered Heahmund to bring you the identities of the men conspiring against you." Aethelred said, face dark and clouded, clothed in the unaccostumed bishop robes. "That was months ago. And still he's not furthered your goal in any way." 

"Can you not forgive Heahmund?" Alfred asked.

"He needs to be punished for what he did at Sherborne." Aethelred paused. "I will bring you the traitors, and then you won't need Heahmund any longer."

"But, how?"

"Did you not think I've been approached before? Our mother's fear was justified indeed." He stepped closer to his brother. "If I wanted to, I could take the throne, today, right now. But I won't. Because I'm not who our mother thinks I am. I will deliver them all to you. And I ask for very little in return. Do not send me away again."

"Brother." Alfred's heart broke at the sight of his brother. "It was never supposed to be a punishment. But I won't, I promise. Not bound to a condition. I won't. Even though, for your great sacrifice, you've earned any boon you could think of."

"I don't need anything from you."


	8. Until the axe reveals it

Bring your love baby, I could bring my shame  
Bring the drugs baby, I could bring my pain  
I got my heart right here  
I got my scars right here

( The Weekend - Wicked Games)

***

Before Aethelred had a chance to set his plan in motion, though, the Viking army struck again. 

Ivar did attack ere the winter was through. The layers of snow had melted and frozen again, becoming rough and coarse like a freshly scabbed wound, crunching under the boots of whoever ventured out. The air was crisp and cold in that way that made your throat hurt whenever you drew a breath. The sun nothing but a yellowish spectre behind the clouds.

*

The village they'd just taken would make a great fortification for the impending battle, Ivar thought. A lot places to hide warriors and traps. He'd prepared well for this battle, taking his time. No more stalemates in this war. 

Ivar took in a deep breath of the cold air, feeling invigorated. Inside the village the snow had melted enough that he could walk by himself. It had been the right decision to return to England. Here he could forget all that had ailed him, back in Kattegat. He felt peaceful even when all around him the villagers were still busy fleeing. 

Except one. An old priest, in a robe that had seen better days, and only a plain wooden cross around his neck. He seemed to be blind, judging from the look of his eyes. Ivar stopped in front of him with a frown, wondering if the man couldn't flee on his own, or refused to.

The old priest looked right at him, his milky eyes seemed to clear for a moment. "And your cart lies broken like your legs."

"What?!" Ivar uttered, his tongue parched all of a sudden. Before he could ask more, there was a noise behind him, and he turned around frantically, nearly losing his footing. Ravens were taking flight. Their black wings incredibly loud to Ivar's ears in that moment. When he turned back, the old man looked as he had only moments earlier, tottering and afraid.

"What did you say?" Ivar asked again, an edge to his voice.

It was Latin now, Ivar realised. The old man was praying. He recognized it from Heahmund.

"What is it, Ivar?" Hvitserk now called from a few feet away.

Ivar shook his head. "Nothing." He turned away and joined up with his brother.

*

"Ragnar once defeated the Mercian army by separating them." Aethelred said.

"That's true." Bjorn agreed. "But they were already seperated on their own."

"Then we need to create an artificial seperator." 

"There's been news that Ivar's leading his army over the Southern plains. There's mostly frozen over marsh land over there." Heahmund said. "It's been getting warmer these past days. So the ice is brittle. But with the newly fallen snow, you can't tell."

"But that's as dangerous for Ivar as it is for us." Bjorn remarked. "Why would he pick that location?"

"Maybe he doesn't know." Aethelred replied.

"Have you ever experieced Ivar not to know something?" Bjorn asked.

"He's not native to these here parts." Heahmund gave to consider.

"Magnus would know." Bjorn insisted.

Heahmund scoffed. "Do you think your brother'd listen to a Christian?"

"Well, he trusted you, didn't he?" Bjorn said with a scowl, towering over the priest like over everyone else, only that Heahmund didn't seem particularly impressed.

"Do you really think, then, that he'd make that mistake a second time?" Heahmund said with a superior smile.

"So that's the plan, then." Aethelred interrupted them. "We'll cut off their retreat and drive them into the marsh land."

*

"It's a good plan." Bjorn said to Aethelred, after the meeting. "A lot can still go wrong. But you can never account for everything. Even Ivar learned that already. But, it's the kind of plan my father would have come up with."

"I didn't do much in my life so far," Aethelred said with a faint snort. "But I studied every single battle ever fought against your people."

Bjorn smirked. "So what's your verdict?"

"That our biggest problem with you is that we fear you. And maybe that we don't celebrate fighting and dying like a cult."

Bjorn guffawed. "If someone celebrates dying like a cult, it's you guys."

"None of us actually want to die. With you guys, I'm not so sure."

"So, being less scared of us, huh?" Bjorn grinned.

"York was tactic. But in many battles, men fell to men they could have defeated, if they could have believed that they could." He eyed Bjorn sharply. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Oh, I know." Bjorn nodded. "And neither are your men when you lead them."

Aethelred looked at Bjorn in surprise, then smiled.

*

The plan had been successful. Bjorn had known it had been a risk. They couldn't have known if Ivar would really choose this plan of attack. But still Aethelred had decided upon it. And up to the last moment, Bjorn had still expected some hidden trap by Ivar.

Bjorn and Aethelred had both ended up isolated from the rest of their army, once the fires had come up that cut off part of the Viking army from the rest of it. But they watched from the hillside, as the battle turned in their favor and those men trapped by the fire were driven into the marsh lands, breaking in, easy to pick off, while those on the other side of the fire took flight.

They smiled at each other in disbelief, both breathing heavily from tension and the battle before.

"I cannot believe it worked." Aethelred uttered, eyes wide, face in an irrepressible grin.

Bjorn grinned too. "You were right." He watched Aethelred watch the men who usually drove them to retreat, running for their lives –he recalled their conversation at camp– the men who'd once struck fear into Aethelred's people's hearts running for their lives. It seemed Bjorn's people would learn to fear the English after all.

"We won." Aethelred reiterated voice still full of wonder.

"I know." Bjorn chuckled.

"We actually won. We actually fucking won." Aethelred let out a whoop, uncharacteristically uncontained.

Bjorn regarded him, somewhat mesmerized by the other's elation, much more so than by the actual victory happening down there on the field. 

Aethelred looked much like he had that day during the sacrifice, the story of their fight through the enemy lines written on his face in red, just as on Bjorn's own face. He could smell the fresh blood in the air, still. The blessing of the gods, Bjorn thought amused. What should it tell him that Aethelred only ever looked happy when they'd just killed something? Bjorn snorted. So he was just like every other guy Bjorn'd ever known, himself included. But he'd never seen him win. That's what made all the difference, he realised. He'd never seen Aethelred win. Until now. Eyes not shining with the desperate madness that seemed to encompass him in the futile battles he'd sometimes fight, no, with something stronger, something that felt like a punch to the stomach when you looked at him.

Bjorn tilted his head, frowning, eyes still locked on Aethelred intently. Then he leaned forward and kissed him.

Unfocused he saw the other's eyes widen, as he leaned back from the kiss that had been short and spur of the moment. Bjorn tried to read Aethelred's reaction, then gave up on it and kissed him again. And this time the other kissed him back. Aethelred's hand snuck around Bjorn's neck, pulling him closer with as much lack of inhibition as there'd been hesitation only a moment before. Bjorn pushed up against him as their kiss deepened, in a push and pull they stumbled along, directionless, not letting off each other, until Aethelred's back hit a tree. Distracted for a moment, the haze lifting suddenly, they stared at each other, for the time it took to gulp down a couple shallow breaths, and it seemed this could all have ended there. Bjorn could not have said what did it, later, maybe the way Aethelred had licked his lips, but the next moment Bjorn had him lifted up against the tree and they were kissing again.

More than anything else, Aethelred was aware of scrape of the metal and leather of their armors against each other, as if an embodiment of how alien this was. And still that's what made it so exhilarating as well, wasn't it? he thought breathlessly, his hands on Bjorn's upper arms, feeling the muscles there as they tensed to hold him upright. So much taller than him. His body so different from a woman's, even from the hard-muscled, scar-covered bodies of the shieldmaidens. He felt the heat where their crotches touched. Didn't know really what to do with his legs, one wrapped around Bjorn's hip the other around his thigh. He wasn't usually the one being held up. But that in itself was a thrill too, he thought, as he pressed his face against Bjorn's shoulder smelling again the leather, blood, and dust of the battle.

Bjorn mouthed along the line of Aethelred's throat. "I want you."

Jarringly the spell was broken, and Aethelred's eyes snapped wide open just as his mind snapped back into reality, panic setting in as he froze. "Oh God! What– What are we even doing here?!"

Bjorn shrugged lazily. "Sex."

Aethelred's eyes darted back and forth between Bjorn's eyes, his mouth, his own hands where they were still clutching the other man, his breath coming out rapid and unsteady, sounding too loud to his own ears.

"Don't you want that?" Bjorn asked, voice low and rough. "Don't you want that?" he repeated his question again, more harshly, a rumbling demand for an answer.

Aethelred didn't know what he wanted, what he'd wanted moments ago seemed to fade like a dream after being jolted awake too suddenly, although the memory of it still burned hot under his skin. Yet here he was faced with the discord of being unable to comprehend how he could have ended up in this position that he, at the same time, did not want to leave. Crippling fear like a punch in the stomach that took your breath away, and still he hadn't pushed Bjorn away. Because below the fear there was a stubbornness he hadn't known about himself. He knew decisions made by instinct from battle, it's what kept you alive in the midst of slaughter. And in this moment his light-headed, swirling mind decided that he would go crazy if he wasn't touched again soon, could still feel the heat where their pelvises were pressed to each other. And somewhere in the background, the sensible part of his mind tried to stumble after his body which in that moment made the decision to roll his hips forward to get more friction, and the sensible part of his mind tripped. 

There was a breathless laugh from Bjorn. "Finally know what you want?"

"Be quiet." Aethelred returned roughly, grabbing the back of Bjorn's head to pull him in for another kiss.

After a while they lost their hold on one another and clumsily sank to the floor, continuing their rutting against each other, those wet, open-mouthed kisses that seemed not to convey the hunger they both felt, their breeches long undone, hands touching each other. 

Bjorn hadn't ever had the urge to do this with a man. He loved women, there'd always been enough to do this with. But now this here was sudden and unexpected. Uncontrollable. He wanted him, wanted him, wanted more. Wanted him like he was now, gone in the moment, moving into his touch, arms slung around Bjorn's neck, groaning into his mouth between biting kisses.

He respected Aethelred in a way he never thought he could an English man. Yet he could not help himself, wanted to do this to him. Wanted to have him like this. He didn't want to debase or shame him. But still he could not control the pulsing ache in his cock. The need he felt as their bodies pushed against each other with less and less restraint, hardly any direction behind it any longer, just chasing what had felt good a moment before.

"Do you want it?" Bjorn asked.

Aethelred looked at him, eyes dark and blown wide. Uncomprehending almost. His hair had come loose long ago and was falling into his face in sweat-sticky strands. "Do it." he said, voice rough and drunk.

Bjorn kissed him again, drinking in the sight before him, come undone not much different than in battle. He'd seen Aethelred before, close to losing his mind, gone in the moment, chasing an entirely different sensation. As every warrior had, who'd lost himself in the song of metal against metal. Yes, Aethelred was a warrior, Bjorn thought. Nothing he would do to him could change that.

Then he thought nothing anymore as his body commanded its needs and all Bjorn could do was groan into Aethelred's mouth.

Aethelred did not know what he'd expected, was it no conscious decision that had led him here. But now his eyes flew open as he clawed into Bjorn's shoulders, as he accommodated him inside him. Something that he'd never even thought about. Sin in it's most vile form. Yet right now he could not even consider telling him to stop. Pulled him closer instead of pushing away. To feel that incomprehensible sensation more distinctly. Deeper. The implication in itself should have horrified him. But it didn't as his heels pushed into the small of Bjorn's back. As they met with incomprehensible animal sounds to match their animal coupling. And he needed needed needed.

It wasn't until they were lying beside each other and he felt the other's seed spill out of him that sheer horror struck him. Squeezing tight on his chest, robbing his breath. Could he still feel the full extent of the terrible ungodly abuse he'd allowed to be done upon his body. The next breath for which he gasped seemed trapped inside his chest by an iron vice and he felt sickness well up in him. Each shudder that went through him reminding him of the sudden unnatural tenderness of his body.

He barely noticed when Bjorn grabbed him by the shoulders, tilting up his face, having him meet his disturbed and worried eyes.

The first words breaking out of Aethelred were, "Oh God. Oh God! What have I done?!"

"Don't cry." Bjorn consoled awkwardly. "It's not that bad."

Aethelred had not even noticed he was crying, and in this moment it did not matter either. "Not that bad?!" he choked out between tears. "I'm going to hell! My soul!" He struggled upright, pulling his trousers back on. "This can never happen again!"

"Fine." Bjorn shrugged. "It's either way to me."

*

Meanwhile at Winchester, Alfred was once more seeking a dialogue with his most dangerous and still most respected critic.

"Can you not see past my shortcomings?" Alfred asked.

"God forgives." Plegmund said. "I'm just the intermediary."

"Sometimes I wonder if you aren't just a cynic and have us all fooled."

*

There's no peace to be made with Plegmund. And then his brother returned from battle, victoriously. 

The nobles left no doubt that it was Aethelred's victory not Alfred's.

And Aethelred walked among them, taking their praises. 

Alfred wasn't worried, was he secure of his brother's support and trusted in their plan. But something about his brother had changed during the campaign. Something that made him look harassed and guilty. Of what, though, he could not fathom. But he was steering clear of the Viking camp and Bjorn in particular.

*

"Mother," Aethelred sat alone in the great hall at the table. Judith jumped, not having seen him. "Is there something you'd like to ask me?"

"And what, my son, could that be?"

"I do not know." Aethelred smiled cruelly. "It is you who has the question."

"I have no question."

"Ah, then you have all the answers." He let out a nasty snort. "I could tell you things, mother. Things that would make you hate me more than you already do."

"Aethelred, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing." He got up. "Do you not wish to congratulate me on my great victory?"

Her smile was strained. "Yes. Of course, my son." She took the steps towards him, closing her arms around him rigidly. She kissed his forehead. "I am proud of you."

Aethelred's eyes were cold and empty when he smiled in return. "Thank you, mother. That means everything to me."

*

"Is something bothering you, brother?" Alfred asked.

Aethelred almost jolted. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because I worry. You seem distraught."

"You're imagining things, little brother."

*

Alfred tried Bjorn next. "Did you have a fight?"

"Huh?"

"You and my brother."

Bjorn shrugged. "Who the fuck knows with him?"

"What happened?"

"Nothing." Bjorn's replies were the verbal equivalent of dragging one's feet.

*

Bjorn'd said it was either way to him. Time made a point of proving him wrong, though. He wasn't quite that indifferent, and actually it did rankle him, the other's resolve. When Bjorn fell for someone it was usually hard and unreasonable. Or maybe it was just a case of wanting what you couldn't have. But while he had forgotten about all the random English ladies without second thought, it wasn't quite so easy to forget about the obnoxious prince's body pressed against his own. Hard-muscled like his own. Both still covered in fresh blood and dust from battle. Nor was it easy to forget his inconsolable desperation afterwards. Before it had happened Bjorn had considered it. But now, the more time passed, the more Bjorn had to actually come to terms with what this was. It wasn't like any relationship he'd had before, and not just because Aethelred was a man. With all his former relationships the physical had been first in a way, and somehow the need to protect the other person. But nevermind the differences, all in all things added up, so there was not really any other explanation for it.

*

Bjorn pushed Aethelred against the chest. "Hey! You said it's not going to happen again. Okay. Great. Can you start acting normal around me again now?"

"I am acting normal." Aethelred said between clenched teeth.

"You avoid me. We haven't sparred in two weeks."

"I'm busy with leading this army. I'm not here for your entertainment."

"Hey, get over yourself. I fucked you. Big deal."

"Don't say that out loud!" Aethelred hissed.

Bjorn leaned in. "With my people that's an insult for which you could ask me to holmgang. But in your case it's true. So I guess..." He shrugged.

"If you tell this to anyone," Aethelred growled into his face, his voice wavering traitorously at the intended threat.

Bjorn couldn't quite fathom how they'd gotten to arguing, when that hadn't been his intention at all. "I'm not going to tell anyone." he pacified. "I was kidding. Don't worry."

Aethelred stared at him, a mixture between anger and desperation warring behind his eyes. Then he ground out, "You will return to East Anglia."

"No." Bjorn frowned. "What? What would I do there?"

"I don't care."

"You need me here."

"You really think you're so special?" Aethelred asked scathingly. "I need Heahmund, I need Lagertha. You're just a warrior. You make no difference whatsoever. You're not your brother Ivar, Bjorn."

"Fuck you. You can't order me to do anything. Your little brother can. Let's face it, I might not be Ivar but you're not Alfred either. Take it up with him. I'm excited to hear how you're going to explain it to him."

Bjorn stomped away angrily. It took him all the way across the courtyard and halfway up to the first storey to calm down enough to realise that he'd accomplished exactly nothing.

*

Bjorn took a hike out of the city into the woods to get his mind clear. Instead of getting his head clear, he found himself more and more brooding, though, not any closer to any viable course of action than he'd been when he'd started.

In his mind he could almost hear his father's voice. Lenient. Amused. "What'd you do now, Bjorn? You gotta stop thinking with that, and start thinking with this."

Easier said than done.

The Ragnar in his mind sat down on a boulder, regarding him expectantly. "What's this, now, with that prince?"

Bjorn rubbed his face. Fucked if I knew.

"You know what your uncle Floki used to say..."

Yeah, yeah, I know.

"Before you start wondering about Aethelred acting irrationally, maybe you start figuring out your own feelings first." A smile, tilted head.

I'm not sure I should take relationship advice from you. Bjorn considered. Especially given that he was talking to someone who wasn't even there.

"Oh, I'm dead. Everyone knows that that makes you exceptionally wise."

Did you know what you felt for Athelstan, I wonder.

The Ragnar in his mind just smiled.

*

"What is going on with you and Aethelred?" Lagertha asked, arms crossed.

"Nothing." He turned away. Of course she'd notice. If his mother were only half as astute at picking up vibes when it came to her own relationships the priest would probably already be dead.

"Hey!" She stopped him.

He spun around. "Seriously. Nothing."

"Ah." She nodded knowingly. "You know it's a bad idea, right?"

"You're fucking a priest."

"True." She smiled ruefully.

"So?" He spread his arms expectantly.

"So, what?"

"I'm waiting for your advice." Bjorn replied exasperatedly.

"Does he know how you feel? Things are a little more complicated, here. He has a lot more to lose."

*

Bjorn pushed Aethelred against the wall. He leaned in until his mouth brushed the other's ear. "I want you. I want this. I'm not afraid of my feelings."

Aethelred pushed him away, face schooled. "I don't." he replied harshly, voice paper-dry.

*

"Well, thanks very much, that was shit advice." Bjorn stormed into his mother's room.

"Hello Bjorn." he was instead greeted by Heahmund's universally unimpressed countenance. His mother was in the bathtub.

"You're here." Bjorn greeted Heahmund with annoyance.

"Indeed." The other eyed him disparagingly.

"Well, begone, priest." Bjorn made a shooing gesture.

Heahmund remained where he was, taking his time to throw Lagertha a commiserating look, only leaving when she'd given him a nod wildly amused by the entire situation.

"Now, son." she said, still subtly smirking. "What did you do now?"

*

And while Aethelred was contemplating the pains of hell and Bjorn was contemplating why the fuck he hadn't stuck with meaningless shallow relationships that left you unaffected even if your wife of about two days died in battle, Ivar and Harald attacked again, seemingly unintimidated by their recent defeat.

Well, Bjorn considered, their last victory had gotten him laid. Maybe they could repeat that. Even though, these days he'd settle for a normal conversation. And that, that probably was the crux of the situation.

*

They were still at Winchester, preparing a plan to push back against Ivar and Harald's army that had once more moved deep into Wessexian territory, when suddenly Alfred showed up to the meeting. 

Bjorn was just proposing a plan of attack, "We should split our troops and attack through the woods and from the right flank."

"No. We won't split up our army." Alfred interjected. "We'll wait in the dunes and attack from behind."

"We cannot be sure he'll come from the south side." Bjorn warned.

"It's a risk I'm taking. I've received new intel from my scouts."

"What would they know?" Bjorn asked. "They wouldn't even get close enough to the camp. Come on, priest back me up. You know, Ivar."

"I trust in King Alfred's decision." Heahmund simply said.

"Whatever." Bjorn huffed. Everyone was going crazy. Fuck this.

*  
SAXON CAMP

"It would be nice if you could leave your differences aside." Heahmund said before the battle, regarding both Bjorn and Aethelred, with barely disguised impatience for such childishness.

"You don't talk like that to me." Aethelred replied haughtily.

"My prince." Heahmund bowed.

*

"Come one." Bjorn said, leading Aethelred away from the battlefield.

"I'm fine." the other replied, still trying to pull back to the battle. He didn't even seem to notice the arrow protruding from his side. He looked normal other than the glazed-over look of his eyes.

"No. Come on." Bjorn insisted tensely, trying to shield the other while fending off attackers, even when his charge tried to escape whenever he didn't grip his arm tight enough.

"Where are we going?" Aethelred asked angrily, but his words were already slightly slurred.

When they got closer to the edge of the battlefield he started to stumble. Bjorn refrained from carrying him, afraid to only aggravate the wound by lifting him, with the arrow still in his side. So he dragged him on, into the forest, out of range of archers, looking around for hidden attackers that would surely be there. It's what he'd have done, it was what he expected of Ivar too.

Bjorn leaned Aethelred against a tree. 

"Come on. You'll be fine." Bjorn said more to reassure himself, cupping the other's face to make him look at him.

Aethelred pushed his hand away. "It's not that bad." But then already his eyes rolled back in his head and he sank to the ground. Finally his sword fell from his grip, landing beside him in the grass.

"Fuck. Fuck." Bjorn cut open the other's armor and tunic alike, trying to get a look at the actual wound. The cloth was soaked down the length of his side, deep into his breeches. Bjorn had very little experience with this. He looked between Aethelred's unconscious form and the battlefield, calculating frantically. Then he slapped the other hard, two times, until his eyes fluttered open again. He grabbed him by the chin so he could look him in the eye. "Stay quiet." he said, pressing the sword back into his hand, fastening his fingers around it. "I'll be back." Then he ran back into the battle. 

"Mother!" He spun around, looking, searching the blood and dust smeared faces, as he fought his way through them. "Mother!"

Who he found, though, was the bishop.

"What's the matter?" Heahmund asked, eying Bjorn suspiciously.

"Aethelred is hurt. I don't know how to treat the wound."

"She does?" was all Heahmund asked. At Bjorn's assent he simply nodded and started cutting his way through the throng of fighting bodies, like something that seemed closer to a storm breaking down trees or a wave crushing ships, than something human. 

Together they found Lagertha and brought her back to where he'd left Aethelred. He was still alive, still conscious even. Half on top of him though was a dead Viking warrior, the edge of Aethelred's sword protruding from the other side of his body.

Lagertha carefully removed the arrow from the wound, first breaking off the shaft, then reaching into the wound to pull out the head. With Heahmund's help she tightly bandaged a piece of cloth over the wound.

When she was done, she looked at her son. "He will live."

Heahmund followed the interaction with a keen eye.

As Lagertha returned to battle, Heahmund and Bjorn took Aethelred back to their side, through the woods. Bjorn carrying Aethelred and Heahmund guarding their way.

Bjorn felt the priest's eyes stray over to him from time to time. At first he assumed his interest was to the state of the prince, but then he realised it was him Heahmund was watching.

They didn't speak until they'd reached the camp.

"Do you have something to say, priest?"

"No, Bjorn Ironside." Maybe it was imagination but was there slight mockery in the way he said his name.

"You're staring an awful lot for a man who has nothing to say." Bjorn returned belligerently.

"Call it surprise, then." Heahmund said casually.

"Surprise?" Bjorn echoed annoyed. "What do you have to be surprised about, huh?"

"I did not realise you cared such for the well-being of the prince."

Bjorn knew to tread carefully here, only did not know how much this applied for the priest who seemed a cynical creature more than anything, just like Bjorn's little brother. Certainly Bjorn had heard enough litanies about hell. Most of them from Aethelred personally. He had a feeling, though, just between the two of them the priest would not spawn into another of his pathos-heavy sermons.

"He is a friend." Bjorn simply said.

Heahmund just nodded at that, a secretive little smile dancing in the corners of his mouth. Was he certainly the last to speak about illicit love affairs. Although, how much love was truly involved between the priest and his mother, was anyone's guess.

*

On the travel back to Winchester, Aethelred woke up, a bloody hand disorientedly reaching out for Bjorn. "Where are we? What–?"

"It's okay now. You're okay."

"Did we win?"

"Yes. Yes we did."

"Good." Aethelred's head fell back against the litter.

*

Aethelred believed he saw his mother as he lay there in fever, a cool hand on his forehead, soothing words. But maybe he was just dreaming. Maybe these were memories from his childhood.

*

When he did wake up, she was in the room, and with her Alfred.

"My son." Judith said, her hand on his, cold and clammy, her face twisted in a despairing smile. He couldn't tell if it was real. He couldn't read her anymore. Maybe he'd never been able to.

*

"How's Aethelred doing?"

"Ask him yourself." Alfred said, pointing at the door of the room he'd just left.

Bjorn ducked his head, remaining where he was, leaning against the wall.

"Thank you." Alfred went on. "For bringing him back."

"Yeah, sure. I mean..."

Alfred patted him on the arm. "Go in there, Bjorn."

Aethelred was lying in the big four-poster bed. He looked surprised when Bjorn entered.

"How are you feeling?"

Aethelred sat up, face twisted in pain. "Good. Fine."

"That's good." Bjorn nodded, feeling oddly diminutive.

"Thank you."

"Ah." Bjorn made a dismissive gesture.

Aethelred steeled himself visibly. "You saved my life."

"I'm sure you'll get the chance to return the favor, once you're up on your feet again."

*  
YORK

"Harald thinks the favor of the gods has left you." Magnus said, casually sidling up to Ivar.

"Or maybe it's just bad luck that we have a Christian among us." Ivar shot back acerbically.

Magnus gave a chortle. "I for one don't believe in bad luck. And whatever gods exist, favor no one."

"That is a healthy mindset." Ivar agreed. "For a Christian. Don't worry about my success, brother." he then added with a dark smile. "I have no doubt about the love the gods have for me."

"You might not. But how much longer will the men follow you before they turn to Harald?"

Ivar snorted angrily. "Harald's an idiot."

"He survived your father. Be careful he doesn't survive you."

Ivar eyed him sharply. "On whose side are you actually?"

"My family's of course."

"Not your lover's?"

"What's love?" Magnus asked dismissively. "Only blood matters."

"It is love then?" Ivar commented, curiously amused.

"What love is there to be between two men?" Magnus shrugged. "Why so curious, Ivar. Does it make you think of Heahmund?"

"No, I just wondered if Harald, for once, managed to pick someone who returns his feelings."

"Oh yeah?" Magnus replied, smiling amused. "Because if you were curious, there's an easy way to remedy that." Without warning Magnus leaned in and kissed Ivar, one hand cupping his face, tongue teasingly dipping against Ivar's half-open lips.

Ivar was so caught off guard he didn't even push him away, busy not to lose his balance in that moment. So the kiss ended when Magnus pulled away again, eyes teasing and amused as he licked his lips.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ivar asked tersely. Angry with himself for his own flustered reaction and also still very much confused.

Magnus laughed. "God, you're innocent."

"If you think you can try your luck with me instead of Harald–" Ivar started angrily, feeling embarrassed.

"Now, I respect you too much to take you for so stupid." Magnus replied easily. "Maybe I did it because it was fun to put you off kilter. Or maybe because I think you're beautiful." He shrugged.

Ivar was struck speechless for a moment. Then he uttered a shocked, "We're brothers."

"You killed your own brother. Is it really so much worse to fuck one? It was just a kiss, Ivar. And who knows if we even are brothers, right? Laughing, Magnus walked off, leaving Ivar to consider that making people uncomfortable and then laughing about it was usually his part.

*  
WESSEX

"You okay?" Bjorn asked with a frown, staying behind when the others had already left. Alfred had been agitated and unusually short-tempered all through the meeting.

"It's... nothing you have to concern yourself with."

"I did not ask because I'm concerning myself with it." Bjorn shrugged.

Alfred let out a harsh laugh. "You and Ubbe. I find your company refreshing. Very few at this court say what they mean without further ado. Sometimes I feel, myself, like I'm speaking in riddles most of the time. When everything around us is convoluted enough, at least our speech should be simple. Don't you agree?"

Bjorn shrugged again. "Sure. Still, a big talk about nothing, and you haven't answered my question."

Alfred laughed more sincere this time. "You are of course right. There are..." He pressed one hand to his forehead. "There are still subjects at my court who do not like my reign and conspire against me. I've been trying to learn their identities, but there's still been no progress."

"How dangerous can they be to you?" Bjorn asked, suddenly looking alert.

"Well, they can depose me, if worse comes to worst. Or, in the good old Roman tradition, simply murder me. Even though," he added with contempt in his voice. "I doubt any of them have ever read anything about the Romans in their lives."

"I haven't either." Bjorn said, mildly scandalized. "Who were they?"

"A people, highly advanced, who'd conquered nearly all the world in their time. A culture more advanced, much more advanced, than we are right now. They were polytheistic, which might be interesting to you."

"They were what?" Bjorn frowned.

"They also believed in many gods. Their highest god, the god-father, controlled thunder and lightning."

"Ah, so they believed in Thor and Odin."

"No, they called them differently. And from the scriptures I've read, a lot of their worship and characteristics of their theology aren't congruent with your believe. So, I'm assuming it was a different religion."

"Huh... Well, concerning your enemies, it seems to me, you already know at least one of them. It's not like he's subtle about it."

"Plegmund doesn't have to be subtle about anything. I'd probably be excommunicated if I lifted a finger against him, and he knows it. Not that I wish to do that. He's the kind of man I wished to surround myself with, in these new times I wish to lead the country into. I was glad when I heard he'd returned from Rome." Alfred sighed. "It is sad how me must make enemies of men we respect and admire, in this life."

*

"We have not ever talked, you and I, have we?" Lagertha said, approaching the woman sitting with her back to her.

Judith jumped in surprise. "No. We have not." Her smile was polite but cold. "I do not imagine you took much notice of me, back then. But Ecbert told me of you, later."

"Oh yes, I remember you were his mistress, weren't you?" Lagertha commented curiously.

"I was." Judith agreed. "As were you. For a time."

"You are wrong, I do remember you from back then. You've changed. You were a timid, little thing. Ecbert would not have looked twice at you then. Was it Athelstan who changed you? Or what they did?" She touched her own ear, the one Judith didn't have any longer.

"I imagine a bit of both." Judith replied coolly.

Ignorant of Judith's hostile demeanor, Lagertha took a seat."You are blessed." she then said. "You have two sons. I have only my firstborn left. My daughter died. And I've lost every other child."

"Yes. Our children are the greatest gift God has given us. And it is for us to guide and protect them."

*

"Thanks be God above for your recovery." Plegmund greeted Aethelred in the gardens.

"Well, it'll be a while." Aethelred admitted ruefully.

"All our prayers are with you."

"I thank you, bishop."

"Had you died in battle, it would have been a terrible loss."

"I'm honored you think so."

"You are not just a warrior, Prince Aethelred. You are more than that. We know you've been pressured into your position." the bishop went on. "It would not be against God's will if you renounced your vows, to take up the sacred honor of leading your people."

"Do you really think so?" Aethelred asked.

"Yes. I am sure of it. No one should be in the service of the Lord against their will. I can get you an amnesty from the Pope, annulling your call into the clergy."

*

Plegmund and Heahmund faced each other as they gave communion to one another, in front of the congregation. Behind them the choir was singing.

"Does the wine taste bitter?" Plegmund asked, when Heahmund drank from the goblet. "Does it turn rotten in your mouth?"

"I serve my God, Plegmund." Heahmund replied. "So it tastes sweet."

"None of us know when judgement will come for us. So you should reflect upon your path and seek repentance, instead of glorying in your undeserved honors."

"None of my honors are undeserved. I did my part to serve god, to protect my king. What did you do to serve your god-appointed king, Plegmund?"

"I'll serve my god-appointed king, Heahmund, have no doubt about that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm.... ^///^ Well, here goes nothing... I don't think there'll ever be a time when I won't feel utterly self-conscious about writing sex-scenes (and it wasn't even explicit or anything)... But well, I'm a coward.^^°
> 
> I love writing Heahmund back in England. On one hand he'd never step out of line or act in any way above his station, but at the same time he's always aware that he's better than everyone else. xD
> 
> Also, with Ao3's spellchecker I found so many typos in this chapter that I'm frankly embarrassed (a word I'd also written wrong). xD


	9. A mother's love

Everything's cool when we're all in line for the throne  
But I know it's not forever

(Lorde - Tennis Court)

***

"I'm so glad you accepted my offer." Plegmund said. "Your brother simply was too young and inexperienced for this position. Of course we know how you cherish him, and that he also was under undue influence by your mother."

"That's why women should not be involved in politics to begin with." Lord Cyneheard agreed.

"I thank you for following my call tonight, my lords." Aethelred said.

"To King Aethelred!" The lords and bishops raised their cups.

Aethelred raised his own. "To King Alfred."

The doors opened and soldiers streamed inside, arresting everyone.

Alfred stood beside his brother and watched as the men were led out.

"I'm very disappointed, Archbishop." Alfred said when Plegmund was led past him.

The man met his eyes. "But not honestly surprised, are you? I did what my conscience dictated me."

"And so will I." Alfred replied regretfully.

As it was just the two of them again in the room, Aethelred turned to his brother, his expression unreadable. "Do not tell mother about this. Not yet."

*

After the arrests had been made Aethelred made his way to his mother's chambers.

She was still awake, sitting at her desk writing. She looked up with surprised worry when she noticed him.

"I wonder," Aethelred started pensively, before she'd had a chance to say a word. "if you'd not wished I had not returned from battle at all..."

"What are you talking about?" Judith asked, alarmed now. "I prayed for you every day as you lay injured."

"Did you now?" Aethelred replied unimpressed. "Mother, if I told you I've been conspiring against my brother all this time, would you kill me?"

"Aethelred, what have you done?"

"Would you?"

"You're my son! I would never hurt you!"

"You never loved me, mother." Aethelred said. "And maybe I can even understand that a little, for you never loved my father. You loved Athelstan, you loved Ecbert– Why, mother, did you think I was oblivious to what happened here just because I was a child? Did you think I did not hear you scream and cry that day? Did you think I missed the scar you wore from that day onwards? Did you think you and father were so discreet in your arguments throughout the years? Why is it, though, you could not love your own son? You could love Ecbert, who could have saved you that day, before anything had happened. What kind of man sleeps with his son's wife? Grandfather never loved me either, when I am the only spawn of his blood left. Probably because he couldn't love his own son, either. Father suffered through it, for years. And now I am. We are soldiers and nothing more, to him and you alike. And now to Alfred. But I love you, mother. And I love Alfred, just like father loved Alfred, despite himself." Aethelred smiled in self-irony. "That's all I wanted to say. I realise now I won't get the answers from you I want." He turned to leave.

"I do love you." Judith's hand darted out, stopping him in his way. "You are my child, how could I not love you?"

"Yes," Aethelred said ruefully. "How?"

"I loved you all my life, from the day I brought you into this world." Her voice turned soft, "But that doesn't mean you should be king. You are your father's son. Aethelwulf and I found respect and maybe even affection later on in our lives. And I feel no resentment for him any longer. I never loved him and neither did he me. But we were a family. Aethelwulf protected me and treated me with respect, after Ecbert was gone, when he wouldn't have had to any longer. He could have killed me and Alfred the day your grandfather died, and no one would have stopped him. But I was more his wife after that than I'd been in all the years before. He was a good man, in his own way. He rose over the narrow and simple views he had for most of his life, and grew as a person, grew in a way his father would have respected had he seen it. But despite all of it, he could have never been the king Ecbert was. Your father was a warrior, and so are you."

"Maybe I could have been. If grandfather and you had spent a modicum of the time you spent teaching Alfred, on me. The only person who ever taught me, was father. So how are you surprised I turned out like him?"

"You are not like your father, Aethelred. Not just. You have the humility it took him years to learn. You have the strength it takes to accept your own losses for a greater good. We don't always get in life what we want, or what we're owed. I should know that better than anyone. Any woman knows that better than any man ever could. For we are constantly asked to be less than we are, to step back without being asked to. The first person who ever looked to see what I could be, was Athelstan. The person to let me be what I could be, was Ecbert. So, my son, I know about standing back. Standing back is what I've been doing all my life. And you should remember one thing, as well. I only asked you to step down. It was you who made the decision. And you should ask yourself why. For my love? Or because you knew my words to be true?"

The snort Aethelred gave was a painful thing between gritted teeth. "I know my brother to be the better king. I'm not stupid."

Judith gave a startled laugh. "I once said the same words to Ecbert, many years ago. 'I'm not stupid'. Your father wanted Ecbert's validation. I wanted just someone's validation. And you always strove for mine. It seems we're all bound to repeat the wrongs done to us." She gave a wistful chuckle. "Alfred's fate always seemed so interlaced with my own. Our position so precarious, when you had everything, by birth alone. I did not have to worry about you. So I didn't. And all my efforts were to secure Alfred the position I knew he needed to have." She shook her head astonished. "I strove to be more than a mother in this world. And a good thing I did so, for it seems I failed at being a mother, when Aethelwulf was a good father, a better father than Ecbert ever was to him, a better father than my father was to me, for Aethelwulf loved you both the same. So it seems I was wrong and Ecbert was too. You are like your father. You, like him, are stronger than the rest of us, for your love is stronger than your pride. And Ecbert was always proud, and so am I. But Alfred, luckily, is Athelstan's son. And Athelstan never knew pride." She took Aethelred's hand. "So maybe my sons can be better than their mother, together."

Aethelred pressed her hand back. "He's my brother and I would die for him. And I'd die for you too."

*

Bjorn jumped up in bed, reaching for a knife, while he still blinked the sleep from his eyes. "What?!" He stopped midway, staring at Aethelred who slumped down on his bed.

He watched as the other leaned forward and started crying.

"What– What's the matter with you?" Bjorn asked, truly concerned by now. He sat beside Aethelred, scrutinizing his face to find any answer.

After a while, Aethelred looked up, eyes red and mouth in a scowl of pain. "My mother..." Another sob tore up in his throat. "She might love me after all."

*

Bjorn did not know what to make of the nightly visit, but Aethelred had sought him out when he needed comfort. That had to count for something. 

Bjorn had realised that this was nothing he could push. Aethelred would make a decision, and maybe Bjorn would like it or he wouldn't. Bjorn wasn't one to give up, but Aethelred was bull-headed more than anything. But he'd come to him that night. He'd cried in front of him. Whatever else, he still trusted him more than anyone else.

Gods, it was infuriating. He was sure his feelings were being returned and still there was a fair chance nothing more would ever come of it. This was a lot harder than fighting Thorunn in the forest. But if there's one thing she had taught him about love, it was that once the other person had made their mind up there was nothing you could do. Chances were Aethelred would meet up with him to confess his undying love or he'd start on a pilgrimage to Rome to clean his soul or something.

*

"I brought you the traitors, brother." Aethelred said. "Now put him to justice. Put Heahmund to justice like you'll put them to justice."

"You've done me a great service, brother." Alfred replied apologetically. "But I cannot do that."

"No, you can't, can you? You can never do anything for me." Aethelred turned around and left.

*

"What do you want?" Bjorn asked as the other stormed into his room, as he seemed wont to do, as of late, after ignoring him for most of the past months. His nightly surprise visit had only been three days ago, so maybe this was the day visit equivalent. Only Aethelred did not look close to tears. He looked angry as fuck.

Aethelred just kept staring at him defiantly, not moving any longer.

Bjorn approached then, head tilted curiously. He stopped right in front of Aethelred, leaning down so their faces were close. "I can never tell with you." he commented. "Are you looking for a fight... Or for a fuck." He'd deliberately used the crude word and saw the jarring startlement in the other.

Then resolve settled on Aethelred's face, steel in his eyes as Bjorn had seen many a time before battle. And suddenly he grabbed Bjorn, winding his braid around his hand and jerking him down that final piece of distance between them, holding him there as their lips crashed.

The moment lasted long enough for Bjorn's shock to settle, that he seemingly was going to get his way. Then he grabbed Aethelred and threw him onto the bed. Aethelwulf landed with a surprised yelp. 

Bjorn followed after him, settling on top of him, one large hand cupping Aethelred's face, regarding him intently, taking in the other's sudden shift in expression.

"We did this before." Bjorn said, tilting his head. "Why are you so nervous?"

Aethelred let out a startled laugh. "Maybe because this time I'm in my right mind and I'm still doing this."

"I do not think less of you. I need you to know that." Bjorn said, thinking that was both the right and wrong thing to say.

Aethelred did not get angry, though. "If you would, I'd kill you." His grip was back in Bjorn's hair. "Now get to it, before I change my mind."

 

They were sitting in bed together, afterwards. No sudden outbursts this time, still Aethelred looked the opposite of relaxed. Bjorn almost didn't dare to ask. Fuck, he'd never spent so much time talking in a relationship before.

He felt foolish when he asked. "So... We... Is this...?"

Aethelred wasn't looking at him, sitting there, knees drawn up, arms and chin resting on them. "I don't know... I don't know."

It seemed silly, the sheets were still warm and still Bjorn wasn't sure if he was allowed to reach over and touch, any longer.

*

"Who's going to hold the Sunday sermon, now that Plegmund's been arrested?" Aethelred asked.

"You're the highest ranking member of the cloth now, my lord." Heahmund replied.

"Don't be ridiculous, Heahmund. I was never learned in these ways. I'm even less suited to hold the sermon than you are." He grimaced in disgust. "I had to send a true man of the church to his certain death to protect my brother. And now just the two of us remain." He snorted. "In offices that should have never been ours. There's no diocese of York and no Archbishop of York either." After what he'd done with Bjorn he'd certainly lost whatever half-hazard claim he could have ever had.

"There will be." Heahmund said with fervor. "Once we've retaken it from the Northmen." It always bemused Aethelred how Heahmund seemed to bear him no ill will, no matter how openly he showed him his disdain.

"Spoken like a true man of God, Heahmund." Aethelred scoffed. "Do you truly not care about the blasphemy of your ways? Do the pains of hell scare you so little? We may do on earth as we wish and fashion us invincible, the Lord will surely teach us humility once our fickle lives have expired." Was he speaking about himself? Aethelred had committed more sins in the past months than in all the years he'd lived. Maybe he just wanted Heahmund to give him some of that uncaring, always so certain attitude with which he went about the world.

"I have no doubt about it. But we must all serve in the way we can. Plegmund did. You did not see him doubt. I cannot doubt either."

"So, you're telling me you'll stand at the altar at Mass and wear the bishop robe and not feel like a fraud?"

"I will, my lord."

*

But he didn't. Heahmund held the sermon, thunder in his voice as he depicted their holy way to victory against the Northmen. But he was well aware of Cuthred's ghost resting his bloody hand on his shoulder, marking him in front of the congregation. Indeed, the only true man of the church was sitting in a cell, awaiting his execution. And even he had overstepped his allotted space by trying to topple a crowned king. Full of vanity. All of them. Prince Aethelred maybe the least of them, his sin the most harmless among Heahmund's alotted weight of guilt.

But still Heahmund broke the bread and benedicted the wine, as he'd learned. As he'd done countless times before. Not as often, though, as he'd cleaned the blood of a slain enemy off his sword. How was it that most of his prayers went to the Archangel Michael? 'Defend us in battle'. Not for humility or forgiveness. Not for the sick and the poor. 

But had he not done all in the name of the Lord? He had doubtlessly. Except for the things he'd done when he'd hoped the Lord wasn't looking. And the last transgression done in his very house. Shame, Heahmund. Shame. 

How had he always deemed himself so much better than everyone else? When once upon a time he'd meant his vows with every fiber of his heart.

*

Aethelred was questioning everything these days. Strangely most of all, his disdain for Heahmund. Maybe only because he hoped he'd be forgiven too when the time came.

Just like Heahmund, he had chosen the path of sin. Deliberately. Shamelessly. It hadn't been circumstances. Just like Heahmund he'd decided that for the time being the fires of hell did not matter to him.

*

Bjorn blocked Aethelred's way as the other came out of the armory. He leaned down, voice low. "I know you haven't made up your mind yet, but do you want to fuck?"

Aethelred's expression was a mixture between irritated and startled. "Yeah." he replied curtly. 

*

"I don't know why this is happening." Aethelred said, staring at Bjorn in incomprehension and despair. "I don't know why this would happen to me."

Bjorn knew Aethelred was still battling with this, it was hard to miss, despite the fact that they'd just fucked and it was becoming somewhat of a regular occurrence. Sometimes Aethelred would turn him down, sometimes he wouldn't. But struggling he was, the whole time. And if Bjorn had had any hope that these feelings he had for Aethelred would cool down once the sex part was actually happening, he would have been proven wrong by now. He was stuck, just as Aethelred was stuck.

"Honestly." Bjorn said. "I didn't really expect this either." He didn't tell him that he'd chosen the easy way out because he was a coward. Not that it had been a big concern on his mind, growing up. People had been talking about Ragnar and Athelstan, but no one had truly known. And of course it had been implicitly assumed that it had been his father fucking the priest. But generally speaking Bjorn knew the stance on the subject. He hadn't lied when he told Aethelred he didn't respect him less for it. Still he wouldn't like stepping in front of the people of Kattegat, telling them he was getting fucked by a man. Although if Aethelred were to ask him to switch there positions, who knew? When it concerned what Bjorn was willing to do for this relationship, it seemed all bets were off.

But whether Bjorn was a coward or the people of Kattegat wouldn't look any more kindly on their relationship, mattered little, because to Aethelred it was something he'd been cursed with. A punishment he was questioning why his god had struck him of all people with it. It all made Bjorn wish they were still in East Anglia, maybe things would have been easier there. But here, right under the entire court and Alfred's nose, Aethelred seemed as conflicted as Athelstan had been, once upon a time, about his faith.

*

They were just returning their weapons to the armory, when Bjorn pulled Aethelred over for a quick kiss. That's when he noticed Heahmund at the entrance of the armory. The priest turned around wordlessly and left again.

Bjorn followed him quietly, not having told Aethelred what he'd observed.

They walked side by side for a while, in silence.

"You didn't see anything, priest." Bjorn said in his own language.

"I see a great many things, Bjorn Ironside." Heahmund replied in the same. And Bjorn wondered whether it had been Ivar or Lagertha who'd taught him. 

"You killed Cuthred." Bjorn said.

"As is known."

"Not for Sherborne, but because of the secret he knew."

"Are you threatening me?" Heahmund asked with a mild smile.

"Do you feel threatened?"

"No. And I would not hurt Lagertha's child."

Bjorn snorted, taking the implied insult in stride. 

"And your secrets," Heahmund went on. "will always be save with me."

"My mother trusts you. I don't."

"Trust, then, that I'd always protect my king and the royal family. To whatever extent. As is godly and just."

Bjorn nodded. "That I believe. You are loyal priest. Just not to us. It makes you honorable, that you stayed true to your king. Just don't play with my mother."

"I don't think Lagertha needs you to protect her. Not me either. Show her some respect."

Bjorn snorted. Well played, he thought. They should have called him Ironside. No blade could wound him. Neither physical, nor verbal. Ivar had been onto something with his comparison to Baldr. What Heahmund's mistletoe was going to be, though? His own pride maybe.

Bjorn leaned closer, a wry smirk on his face. "What is it you actually believe in, priest?"

"I believe in our Lord." Heahmund replied with emphasis.

"Hmm... I don't know. Maybe. But you," A smirk. "know best, what he," He pointed a finger skywards. "wants. Isn't that right?"

*

"I deserve this." Aethelred told Bjorn, his hand cupping the other's face almost painfully. "I deserve something too. I did everything right. I did right by God in every other way."

Bjorn nodded. "Don't doubt so much."

"All I do is doubt. Every decision I've ever made."

"Don't. Make a decision, maybe change it later. But while you do, don't doubt."

"How?"

"You don't doubt when you make a decision on the battlefield that could lead hundreds to their deaths–"

"Yeah, I can't because–"

"–otherwise you'd never make a decision."

Aethelred laughed softly, surprised. "It's not that easy." he added then.

"No, it really isn't." Bjorn agreed and leaned in until their lips softly brushed. He had his answer when soon he felt the pressure of the other's mouth pushing back against him.

"You know," Bjorn said. "I don't believe everything about the gods either."

"No?"

"You have to take it with a grain of salt." Bjorn shrugged.

"Faith?!" Aethelred looked at him incredulously.

"Yeah." Bjorn shrugged again, smiling. "You know, they said the gods loved my father. Some say they love me too. But most of all, my gods are arbitrary. My gods are like Ivar." He smiled. "They might help you from time to time, but mostly they're selfish and vain. You call your god 'father in heaven' and we call Odin 'allfather', but your god is actually supposed to be like a father, he's supposed to love all of you. Maybe trust in that, huh?"

"In that, huh?" Aethelred asked, something softly hopeful blooming up in his eyes as he smiled at Bjorn.

Bjorn grinned. "Let me kiss you."

Aethelred looked up challengingly. "Why don't you just do it?"

Bjorn half ripped him off the ground, slinging his arms around him.

"You're such a fucking animal." Aethelred chuckled against Bjorn's cheek with bruised lips.

"And you're not?" Bjorn rasped, biting his ear.

 

Later, as they lay naked between the rumpled sheets of Aethelred's bed, Bjorn's found himself under the unnerving scrutiny of the prince, once more something seemed to be warring in that mind of his. 

Finally Aethelred spoke, "This here means nothing. This is not what I'm putting my soul in peril over." He paused as if caught up in his own train of thought. And all Bjorn could do was wait for whatever judgement was to come now, for both of them. Aethelred went on then, "Do you recall the night I was made bishop? You told me to tell the Lord I'd been my brother's keeper. I knew it in my heart if not in my mind that I loved you, then."

"You're with me because I remembered a line from your bible?" Bjorn asked with an raised eyebrow.

Aethelred eyed him unflinchingly, not hard, not resolved, just with some kind of strength akin to hope. "I'm with you because you refused to convert when my brother asked you, yet you listen to me when I speak of my faith even though it means nothing to you. Because you thought long enough about something to try and comfort me, even though you do not believe in any of it." A smile ghosted across his face now, tentatively, as if his mind could not quite believe yet that the time of war was over. Not quite yet, not for a long time maybe, but like against Ivar in the field, the first victory was theirs.

It was an unexpected victory, and just like the last time, it took Bjorn by surprise. "I was just trying to... I mean... Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Aethelred and I loved Judith in the previous seasons, so here I'm trying to reconcile the Judith I'd come to know with what the writers have done in 5B. I could have written her completely in the way she used to be before (and I do not believe she would have been a bad mother), but somehow it soothed me more to try to wrangle the mess of 5B into something that kinda grazed the lines of canon (obviously without Aethelred getting killed by her) but then turned into something you can understand and maybe even relate to. I wanted to portray it is somewhat of a misunderstanding and of course mistakes made by Judith, but in a way where she'd never ever consider killing her own son.


	10. A sense of ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll answer each of you personally, but I just wanted to say thank you to all of you guys here. The morning after I posted chapter 9, I obviously went online to check for comments, but I didn't really expect any yet.^^ And then I couldn't believe my eyes, when I saw that all you guys had commented already. And it completely made my day! <3 <3 <3 Actually it didn't just make my day, I'm still super elated because of it. So, thank you, you are the greatest!!! ^.^ <3 <3 <3

We show off, our different scarlet letters  
Trust me, mine is better  
We're so young, we're on the road to ruin  
We play dumb, but know exactly what we're doing  
The rumors are terrible and cruel  
But, honey, most of them are true

(Taylor Swift - New Romantics)

***

YORK

"How much more would your glory grow, if you were not just king of Norway but a king of England, too? The people of Wessex would not allow Alfred to waste too many resources and lives to regain Mercia. After all, what difference does it make to them? They've been at war with each other for ages. Mercia and Wessex have never been friends. Then all you need to do, is get Ivar to give up his claim here in England." Magnus kissed Harald. "You will be the greatest king to have ever lived."

"And what is your ambition?" Harald asked. "I will give you whatever you wish for."

"I just wish to stand by your side when you claim the throne of Mercia."

*  
WESSEX

"You've barely recovered." Alfred said.

"I'm fine," Aethelred replied dimissively. "And I'm most definitely done being on the defensive. We're not giving them time to regroup. We're coming for them this time. I'm not afraid of Ivar or any of the Northmen. And it is high time we showed them that."

*

"What will you do?" Alfred asked. "When this cursed war finds its end?"

"Do you think it will?" Bjorn asked with a lopsided smile. "Anytime soon?"

"No." Alfred shook his head.

"Neither do I."

"Still..."

"I don't know."

"You will always be welcome at my court."

"Always?" Bjorn smirked, one eyebrow raised. 

Alfred returned the smile, warm and amused. "Well, I wouldn't appreciate it if you were to raise an army against me."

"No." Bjorn shook his head, amused as well. "No plans of that, for now."

*

Aethelred headbutted the Viking in front of him. "This is our country! You think you can come here, take everything, and we'll just sit back and look on?!" He blocked the axe that swung for him, and ran the Viking through with his sword.

Earl Olafsonn sank to his knees, blood spilling from his mouth. Aethelred kicked him in the chest and pulled out his sword.

*  
YORK

Harald thought of his conversation with Gunnhild when he'd just arrived in York. He'd wanted her, then. He'd thought she was destined for him, that there was something between them. And he needed a queen, children. The children he should have had with Astrid. He wanted all that happiness Ivar all of a sudden seemed to have.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Harald said.

"As am I." Gunnhild replied. "He was a good man."

*

"I like you, Gunnhild." Ivar sat down beside her. "I always have."

"Is that right, Ivar?" she replied mildly doubtful.

"How would you like to be a queen?" he asked her.

"What do you mean?"

"I need someone to rule for me in my lands in Northumbria, when I return to Kattegat." He shrugged. "You would not rule in just York alone, but over all the earls I appointed in my cities."

"That is a lot of power to give. Are you sure you do not want to give it to Hvitserk?"

"Hvitserk?!" Ivar laughed. "Now, why would I do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you do not want him to return with you to Kattegat."

Ivar laughed even louder now, patting her on the shoulder. "Yes, yes, I like you. No, I wouldn't give my brother responsibility such as that. That would be like giving such power to Bjorn. That's like trying to make jewelry with a hammer and an anvil. But there's something we need to be clear about. What are your intentions for marriage?"

She looked at him surprised. "I have no intentions of marrying again."

"Because you want to stay true to Olafsonn?" Ivar raised an eyebrow.

"No. He was a good man. But I married him for necessity. Back then I was in a difficult situation."

"What if you're in a difficult situation again? See, I have no intentions of Harald obtaining rule over my territory here."

"Harald? Isn't he with your brother, the Christian?"

"Harald's been interested in you to begin with."

"Well, I have no intentions of marriage whatsoever. And whom I fuck, is really none of your business."

"We're in agreement then."

*

"Hvitserk?" Ivar asked with amusement, after he'd seen the two of them kissing at the feast.

"Why not?" Gunnhild shrugged. "I'm not going to marry him, if that's what you're afraid of."

"Ah," he laughed. "I'm not afraid of anything, when it comes to Hvitserk. And he does seem to have a way with women." He shrugged, laughing again.

*

"Too bad, hm?" Magnus leisurely leaned against one of the wooden pillars in the hall.

"What do you mean?" Harald asked.

"Oh, no need to hide your intentions from me. She's a beautiful woman. Of course you'd want to marry her." He shrugged.

"Magnus, I..."

"What she sees in Hvitserk, though, I do wonder..."

Harald scrunched up his face in displeasure. "It certainly is a blessing to be a son of Ragnar Lothbrok."

"The sons of Ragnar Lothbrok." Magnus scoffed. "It has nothing to do with the will of the gods or being blessed. You can be king of all of Norway and of England too, if you choose to. Who's to stop you? Bjorn doesn't have an army. Ubbe's become a Christian. Ivar's insane. And Hvitserk... he's a joke. And me." He leaned in close. "I'm only alive by your mercy."

"And what do you want?" Harald asked, putting a hand in Magnus' neck, part threat, part caress. "Why do you stay with me?"

"Who wouldn't want to?" He asked, eyes gleaming, head tilted. "To be with the greatest king of our times?"

Harald laughed then, grabbed Magnus and kissed him. "It was fortuitous that our paths have crossed. You reminded me again who I truly am."

*

Later in the evening, Hvitserk swaggered over to Harald's table, drunk on wine and his first victory in ages it seemed, if only over the heart of a woman.

"I know you wanted her too." he started. Then shrugged with a gleeful smile. "But that's how it goes, isn't it? She made her choice."

"It's a virtue being a son of Ragnar Lothbrok." Harald replied measuredly. "Even though I really don't know why."

"Of course you know why, you're not stupid. You always wanted to be Ragnar Lothbrok. You felt like his equal. There was nothing you couldn't do. You didn't understand why people followed Ragnar and not you. But you will never be Ragnar. And you will never be king of Norway. And you want to know why?

"Why don't you tell me?"

"It has nothing to do with power, titles, or your army. It is in the gift of the gods."

*

"Battle awaits." Magnus said, stepping beside Hvitserk. "There's something special about today. I can feel it." He stretched his hands over his head, breathing deeply. Then he patted Hvitserk on the back. "Great things will happen today, Hvitserk Lothbrok. Maybe both our fates will finally be revealed."

"Do not talk to me, ergi."

"Not so grim, brother." Magnus continued jovially.

"You're no brother of mine."

"No?" Magnus tilted his head. "Are you quite sure?" He walked on, then, catching up with Harald.

*

Harald stared, stopping frozen in the middle of the battlefield, for a moment of disbelieving horror.

Magnus pulled his axe out of Hvitserk's chest. "See how easily he died." He laughed. "The son of Ragnar Lothbrok."

"He was on our side." Harald said disturbed.

"Was he?" Magnus asked, giving Harald a searching look. "Was he really?"

Ere Harald could say anything, Magnus had been swallowed up by the crowd again.

*

The atmosphere in the great hall was subdued and glum, still enough people had been found who wanted to drink away their memory of defeat, once Ivar'd retired for the night.

"Looks like she is free for you now." Magnus said with a lazy shrug, eyes following Gunnhild.

"So it seems." Harald replied, gravely.

"Fortuitous, is it not?"

*

Gunnhild smiled at him knowingly. "Have you come to console me?"

"Do you wish to be consoled?" Harald asked.

"He died in battle. A worthy death. There's no reason for me to grieve." She smiled. "Still, I would not mind the company."

*

Not much later Harald returned to Magnus. Magnus did not look surprised.

"Back already? What a shame."

"You do not know what I want." Harald replied harshly. "Or maybe you do," he added wryly, no longer surprised that Magnus seemed to know everything at all times, most of all Harald's mind. "Do you not think you have a claim on me, by now?"

"We are both free men. Neither has a claim on the other. There are no vows between us, just choice."

"Yes. Choice." Harald agreed. "I've made mine."

"Come here, then." Magnus smiled.

"What about you?" Harald asked, remaining where he stood.

"Oh, I made my choice a long time ago."

Finally Harald followed Magnus' beckoning.

*  
SAXON CAMP

"My brother is dead." Bjorn said, staring at the letter in his hand. "Hvitserk."

"I'm sorry." Aethelred said, brows furrowed. "Were you two close? You never talked about him."

"Not close, no. But also, yes. All my little brothers... I loved them all the same. I was already grown when I first truly got to know them. And they were toddlers. They're still toddlers to me, all of them. Hvitserk... I have to tell Ubbe. Those two were always the closest."

"Then why were they fighting on opposing sides?"

Bjorn displayed a tortured smile. "I do not know. I don't know. Ubbe doesn't know either. When Ubbe returned to Kattegat, Hvitserk stayed with Ivar. I wasn't there... I was in the Mediterranean, with Halfdan. When I returned..." A small sad smile. "The lines had already been drawn. There was nothing left for us but to fall in line. Halfdan and I returned to Kattegat, to find that we'd all of a sudden become enemies... And still he stayed by my side."

"And Harald killed him."

"Yes. Ubbe could have killed Hvitserk, too, on the battlefield. But he didn't. And now he died anyway. Without the two of them seeing each other again. I haven't seen Hvitserk, either. The last time was... when we were trying to negotiate for peace. Lagertha, I, Ivar, Ubbe and Hvitserk. It was my mother's fault, this war. When I left, we'd been all fighting together to avenge my father." Strange to be talking about this to Aethelred. Had it been his family who they'd been fighting back then. But still the other was listening to him. "And when I returned, suddenly there was war. And there's nothing I can do to end it. As long as my mother and Ivar are still alive, this war will not end."

"Can not your brother's death reconcile you again?"

"Maybe it can. I hope. I do not know. I know what Ivar is capable of when it comes to violence or cruelty, but I do not know what he's capable of when it comes to love, to forgiveness."

"Do you still have love for him?"

"Yes." Bjorn nodded. "My baby brother. Of all my brothers, he reminds me the most of my father." He smiled ruefully. "That's not always a good thing."

*  
VIKING CAMP

"You come here? Into my camp?" Ivar asked, eyebrow raised.

"Why did you send word, if not for us to come here?" Bjorn asked simply.

"How did he die?" Ubbe asked.

"I do not know." Ivar shrugged, lips pursed in a bitter frown. "I was not there on the battlefield, as you can imagine. You were. You should know better than me. After all it was one of your people who killed him. Some of your good new Christian friends."

"You know well why we joined them." Ubbe said witheringly.

"Oh well, you're a Christian now, Ubbe. So it seems it all worked out fine for you."

"Maybe it was your priest who killed him," Ubbe proposed angrily. "How about that, huh, Ivar?"

"That's entirely possible." Ivar retorted with a pitiless smile. "He is, after all, a great warrior. Greater than Hvitserk. Greater than you, too, Ubbe."

"None of this, Ivar." Bjorn said with finality. "Can we not bury our brother in peace?"

"Alright." Ivar said after a moment, shrugging with brittle indifference. "Let's go and bury our brother."

*

"Can it not end?" Bjorn asked, as they stood before Hvitserk's pire that was only smoldering any longer, nothing but ashes left. "Ivar. Another of us gone. And for what?"

"You know for what, Bjorn Ironside. You know all too well. You would be doing exactly what I'm doing, were our roles reversed. Oh, you'd burn the world down for Lagertha. Yes, I buried Sigurd, I buried Hvitserk. And I'll bury the rest of you, just the same, if that's what it takes." His voice rose, "As I buried my mother! And make no mistake, Bjorn. Hvitserk didn't die because I want to kill Lagertha. He died because he made a decision. I'm not my brother's keeper." he added viciously.

Bjorn remembered those words only too well. While a fond memory to him by now, he also still recalled the original dark tale. 'Your brother's blood cries out to me from the soil'. They were in the land of the Christian god now and it seemed there was no way to evade him. He looked over at Ubbe, the cross around his neck. And there stood Magnus and smiled when he met Bjorn's gaze.

"Do you trust him?" Bjorn asked Ivar.

"Who? Magnus?" Ivar chuckled. "No." He shook his head, amused. "But, then, I don't trust anyone. Not anymore. And Lagertha... is a fool if she repeats the same mistake I made."

Bjorn nodded. "I don't trust the priest either. But, Ivar, are you not lonely?"

Ivar tilted his head contemplatively, smiling benevolently. "Me? No. I'm used to it. Are you, Bjorn? So far away from home." he drawled. "Do you wish you could return to Kattegat? You say you don't trust Heahmund. But do you trust Alfred? Do you trust any of the Christians? Oh, they love to lie, however much they call it a sin."

"You've not left much of the world for the rest of us, Ivar. We're making a home where we can."

*

Bjorn and Ubbe had left again. All that remained were Hvitserk's ashes.

"You realize," Magnus said. "had you not treated him like a dog, your brother might still be alive. Maybe if you'd shown him some respect, he wouldn't have felt the need to mouth off to Harald like that."

"What do you mean?" Ivar asked. "He was killed in battle."

"Was he? Was he truly? I do not believe in coincidences. It seems a bit too convenient."

*  
SAXON CAMP

Aethelred awaited him when he returned to camp. 

"I'm so sorry." Aethelred hugged him close when they were back in their tent.

Bjorn let himself relax into the embrace for a moment, before he slumped down on his cot.

"I always thought I wanted to die in a great battle." he then said. "And now I just don't want to lose anymore people I love. Is that weakness? Is it cowardice?" He looked at Aethelred plaintively.

"No." Aethelred replied decisively. "You should only have to fight to protect the ones you love. Not against them."

"Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me. I just speak the truth." Aethelred replied with fervor. "A man who doesn't care about his family is weak. Love doesn't make you weak. A man who isn't afraid of sacrifice has no one he loves."

"You are wise."

"From time to time." Aethelred conceded with a lopsided smile.

Bjorn smiled in turn, feeling some of the heaviness lift of his shoulders. He reached out a hand. "So, about the people you love... Am I among them?"

Aethelred smirked, not letting himself get pulled closer. "I once thought you the worst mistake Alfred had ever made."

His smile broadened as Bjorn's hand tugged at his wrist more insistently. This time Aethelred did let himself get pulled closer. He put both hands on Bjorn's shoulders and leaned down, whispering in his ear. "I already told you, I wouldn't jeopardize my immortal soul for just a fuck."

Bjorn turned his head meeting Aethelred's eyes, speaking in a sudden burst of emotion, "I don't have a lot left to be jeopardized, but what I have is yours."

*  
YORK

"I believe Ivar plans to betray me." Harald said. "He is making plans that don't involve me any longer."

"Yes, he hasn't been a friend to begin with." Magnus replied. "You should be careful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, poor Hvitserk....
> 
> Buuuut, in the next chapter Heahmund and Ivar are going to meet again!!! :D


	11. The only thing left that I like

But don't ask me to be righteous  
If you practice what you preach  
Counting your blessings  
The moment you're down on your knees

(Dua Lipa - High)

***

YORK

"So Alfred wishes to talk again," Ivar started the meeting. "Despite that he won."

"Yes, he is very concerned." Heahmund replied. "He wishes to avoid further unnecessary losses. He is certain that you are a man to be reasoned with."

"Oh, is he?" Ivar let out an amused laugh. "And you? Do you think I can be reasoned with?"

"Is that not what we did, Ivar? When I was at Kattegat. Reason with each other?"

"Hmm..." Ivar tilted his head from side to side. "I found reason to be very unfavorable, very unyielding, in my time. Reason dictated that I should never ever be someone of importance. That I should never even stand on my own two legs," He got up on his leg braces. "as I am standing in front of you right now. You said I am no god, but I am revered as a god, back in Kattegat. Not because I am. But because I told them so. And reason... should certainly tell them otherwise. So excuse me, if I find it not in my best interest to listen to reason." Suddenly Ivar was all jovial smiles again. "But let's eat now. Your travel was long and arduous, I'm sure. Let's celebrate our endeavours for peace." He grinned, raising his cup. "To reason!"

*

Later they sat in one of the houses in York which Ivar had claimed for himself. There was a gold embroidered tapestry depicting the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian lying on the bed, as if it were a bedspread. Lord only knew where the cups they were drinking from had come from. All of a sudden Heahmund felt confronted with his own hypocrisy. What respect had he shown the house of God? When the blood of Cuthred had fallen into the goblets meant for communion, as if it was the wine who'd filled them countless times before. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.

"Have you ever wondered..." Heahmund stopped there.

"What?" Ivar asked and looked at him as if to say 'you can tell me anything'. Which was ridiculous. But Heahmund also realised that he could. That if he chose to, he could, in fact, tell Ivar anything, everything. He wasn't judging. The only person who wasn't.

"I killed a bishop." Heahmund said without conscious decision. "The bishop of Sherborne. Not to protect my king, or for any other remotely valiant reason. But for anger and pride. Because I felt it was my right and because I wanted to. I slew him right in the church at the altar. And he might not have been a pious man, but his words to me were truthful, I have forever condemned my soul, for it was not right or good in the Lord's eyes. I deserve not my newly returned bishop hat. And my king and my God know that. King Alfred keeps me alive because he needs me to keep his crown. And maybe God does too, for he is with Alfred who is a good and righteous king."

"I once killed a bishop too." Ivar replied, fondly reminiscent. "Here in York. Right in the church, too, at the altar. I killed our seer, as well. He was something like a priest to us. It was a very bad thing to do. It has surely angered the gods. But I was just so sick and tired of his prophecies. So was my father before he died. Maybe if someone had killed him earlier, my mother would still be alive, or maybe I would have never been born. But then again, my mother was a seer too. I wonder what she would think of what I did."

*

The hours had gone by quickly and Heahmund could not claim that his goal had be furthered in any way. Already the meeting had come to an end, fruitless.

"Do not leave yet, Heahmund." Ivar patted him on the back. "You must stay the night. It's been a long way to York. And we will talk again in the morning."

"Alright, Ivar."

*

They had breakfast, not in the hollowed-out remains of the church which now functioned as great hall, but just the two of them, secluded away.

"I met someone." Ivar said. "Someone I liked. Not quite as much as you, but enough that I wanted to believe again. Wanted to give them a chance to betray, just to see if they would. And she did. But she also gave me power I wouldn't have had otherwise. A child. She slept with another man for it, but who cares? No one will ever know. I could tell them Odin himself stepped down to put it in her womb, like your God did with the Virgin Mary. And once the child is born, I will kill her." He sighed. "It is said, Lagertha once said the one thing in life she never could get used to, is deceit. I feel all my life has ever been, is just that. People deceive me and I deceive them. And what for? So little to show for."

"You sound tired, Ivar. Why don't you stop fighting then?"

"I'm not tired of the fighting, priest. I'm tired of the deceit."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Heahmund asked. "You must know that I will relay all this to King Alfred."

"Will you?" Ivar asked, head tilted.

"Of course."

"Hmm..." Ivar shrugged. "Maybe I lied to you. Or maybe not. Maybe it's not important if Alfred knows. Maybe I told you because it made me happy that you tried to sell Lagertha to me."

"Are we going to talk about peace, Ivar?"

Ivar shrugged. "Later. Now I have to take care of other business." He smiled. "I will see you later, priest. Somehow I think you're not in a hurry to return to your own people."

*

"I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. The ends justify the means." Heahmund started their conversation when Ivar returned. The other's parting words having stayed in his mind for the time he'd spent unoccupied. Because the longer he thought about them, the harder it became to deny that they were true. But how had it been so easy for Ivar to tell?

"Oh, priest." Ivar laughed. "I think you're proud of all of them. Every piece of deceit. You're not furthering God's glory on earth but your own vanity."

"If you truly believe that, I do not know how you can find any respect for me."

"Do you want peace, priest? Do you really? You think they'll feel comfortable letting the rabid dog back into a church?"

"I'm not–"

"Oh, yes. Yes. Do not be ashamed of it, priest. It pains me to see that. When there is nothing more beautiful than you giving in to your bloodlust."

"You have an uncanny way of showing me my shortcomings, better than anyone else." Heahmund huffed, full of self-ironic resignation.

"You want to misunderstand me today, Heahmund."

*

"Hvitserk is dead." Ivar suddenly said.

"I heard. I'm sorry for your loss."

Ivar shrugged unwillingly, face twisting. Then spoke despite not having planned to, "I never cared much for him. I know not why he stayed. I told him multiple times to return to Bjorn and Ubbe."

"His death is not your fault." Heahmund said, brows furrowed.

"No. Obviously. Why would it be? I did not kill him." Ivar replied, ill at ease.

"But it is natural that you would grieve for him."

"Do I look like I'm grieving, priest?"

"What's in our hearts is not necessarily on our faces."

"Only three of us left. Well, four with Magnus." Ivar snorted. 

"Magnus?" Heahmund looked at Ivar confused. "Kwenthrith's son?"

Ivar shrugged. "My brother. Did you not know that he arrived with Alfred at our camp and stayed?"

Heahmund shook his head.

"You maybe know him under the name Brother Aidan." Ivar saw recognition bloom on the priest's face. So Magnus had not lied to him. "Did you know him well?"

"As well as any of my fellow brothers. He was a young new recruit. He'd been with us for a couple of years."

"I've only known Magnus for a couple of months and I like him better than I ever did Hvitserk."

"And you feel guilty for that."

"Why would I? Hvitserk was weak and a coward."

"You need not try to convince me that you do not care about his death." Heahmund said, his voice oddly gentle, considerate.

"Maybe I'm trying to convince myself, priest." Ivar said pensively. "Maybe I'm trying to convince myself."

*

"Tell me of your wife."

Ivar smiled surprised. "What do you want to know?"

"What do you want me to know?"

"She called me beautiful. Blessed by the gods. Foolish of me to believe it, I know. I did believe her. I did believe her until she started calling me a god. Until she claimed immaculate conception. It was bullshit when you told me about it, it didn't become any more true then. She didn't know you, otherwise she'd have known that I'd never believe something I'd disbelieved from your tongue, from someone else. Of course one could assume that she's mad. That might be the most charitable assumption. But she's not. She's a shrewed woman."

"Maybe she has done it out of love." Heahmund gave to consider.

"Out of love?" Ivar scoffed. "Did you betray me out of love?"

Heahmund only gave Ivar a look, lenient, patient.

"She did not do it out of love." Ivar went on with disgust in his voice. "She just sees my weaknesses as plainly as you did, and played me to highest effect. But she made a mistake, for I am not as gullible as she took me for. Even though one might consider that it's not possible to be more gullible than a man who believes a Christian priest will be true to him. But truly," Ivar smiled mischiveously. "If you can't trust a Christian priest, then whom?" He made the sign of the cross. "Say, priest, when I told you I wanted to belief in you, what did you think?"

"I felt sorry for you. And also happy for the angle you'd given me."

"How charitable of you. I do not know for which to hate you more."

"Yet, you do not hate me."

"Hmm. No. Love and hate are close together. Maybe it is your luck that I had a lot of time to consider my feelings and my actions. Maybe it is your luck that Freydis taught me that no one loves you and everyone betrays you. And that still I do not want to be alone."

"Yet, you chose to forgive me and not her."

"No one said anything about forgiveness. I just don't want to be alone. Forgiveness is such a Christian concept. Can't you just hate someone and still want to keep them around?"

"I don't think so, Ivar."

Ivar went on without regard to Heahmund's reply, "She reminded me of you, I guess. She talked to the gods. And saw me for who I am. When someone tells you things that are too good to be true, you can be sure they're lying. If there's someone who knows miracles don't happen, it's me."

"Really? Can you say that? When your entire path has been a miracle. Look where you are. Where no man can stand beside you."

Ivar let out a surprised, startled laugh.

*

"Another night," Ivar said as the sun was setting once more. "Is it not worth it... for peace?"

"We're going in circles, Ivar. There's no purpose to my stay here." Heahmund said, knowing the words to be what he needed to say, what was expected of him.

"You can not travel in darkness, now can you?"

"No. Tomorrow morning, Ivar. By noon I'll be gone."

"Alright, priest."

*

That night... he thought of the priest. Ivar did not touch himself, did not dare to touch that useless, humiliating piece of flesh, even when he was on his own. But he imagined what it would be like if he could. Imagined anything, in any capacity. Eating the flesh and blood of the priest like the Christians ate the body of Christ. Devouring him. Becoming one with him. Touching him as he'd touched Freydis. Touching him in ways he would never be able to. And his heart beat hard and fast.

*

Heahmund did not find much sleep that night, his thoughts on his return to court. What he feared was not his failure during the peace negotiations but the genuine sense of trepidation he felt at returning. He had a dreadful sense of foreboding. As if soon, punishment for all his sins would find him.

Lately, his long anticipated return to his home had become something to bear and suffer through. An exercise in patience and self-control. He did not do well with being hated, with the mistrust around him. He needed the worship he'd been shown most of his life. He needed the trust. A life of being shunned and suffered seemed unbearable.

His old life was slipping through his fingers and it seemed the person he was becoming he'd been all along. And it was an ugly sight. Still, Heahmund did not think he was strong enough to change.

*

"I dreamed of hell, last night." Heahmund said. "I was surrounded by flames, and demons were crawling towards me, looking for my flesh.

"The seer," Ivar replied. "Before I killed him, he told me of my future. Me being on the ground, in garbage and filth."

"Did it scare you?" Heahmund asked.

"Did it scare you?" Ivar returned. "Your vision of hell."

"It did." Heahmund said somberly. "It deeply terrified me and it still does."

Ivar smiled softly, sadly. "I am afraid too."

*

No peace treaty was made, of course. Heahmund left empty-handed, by noon, as he'd said.

Ivar looked at Heahmund contemplatively as he led him to the city gates. "You could stay, priest."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't return to your people. Stay here. With me." There was something oddly hopeful in Ivar's face.

"You know I can't do that."

Immediately Ivar's expression turned angry, embarrassed. "Then don't, priest. Serve yourself."

Heahmund gave Ivar a rueful smile. "Maybe it just wasn't fated to be."

"Oh, don't give me that!" Ivar exclaimed.

***

When it's just us, you show me what it feels like to be lonely  
You show me what it feels like to be lost  
I'll take your hand for you to let it go let it go let it go

(Ellie Goulding - Halcyon)


	12. Everything is getting darker

Saw Cinderella in a party dress but  
She was looking for a night gown  
I saw the devil wrapping up his hands  
He's getting ready for the show down  
I saw the ending were they turned the page  
I threw my money and I ran away

Now Cinderella don't you go to sleep  
Its such a bitter form of refuge  
Ah don't you know the kingdoms under siege  
And everybody needs you

(The Killers - Dustland Fairytale)

***

YORK

"It's fascinating, the rise and fall of power, isn't it?" Magnus asked, regarding the banners of Ivar flying outside. "I always found it fascinating. The raven banner is gone altogether."

"It's the way of the world." Harald replied.

"Yes, and still we struggle so hard. Struggle for something we can't keep. And while the water runs through our fingers we imagine we're holding the river."

"So you're saying it's senseless?"

"No, there is a certain poetic beauty to it. I do wonder when Ivar's banner will have vanished just like Ragnar's."

"What about mine?"

"You're going to be the first king of Norway. No one is ever going to forget about you." Magnus eyes wandered over to the banners once more. "Ivar seems genuinely sad about Hvitserk's death." he then said, sounding surprised about it.

Harald stared at him perturbed. "Of course he is. He was his brother."

"He was mine too."

*  
WESSEX

"No peace, then." Alfred said succinctly, as if he had expected nothing else. He shook his head, then murmured almost to himself. "Well, not for lack of trying. Brother," He turned to Aethelred. "proceed as you see fit."

Aethelred nodded, grimly satisfied. "The men are ready. We march on York in the morning."

*

Ivar, since he'd begun his way, since his first success, he'd never doubted himself, had not for once considered that he might fail. Until the last spiteful prophecy of the seer. Now it seemed he could not forget about it. He wondered how long his empire would hold, until it all burned down. How long until he'd be where his father had been. How long until people who'd revered him would turn from him. And he'd die a joke. Like his father. 

Your chariot lies broken like your legs. Garbage and filth. 

The last battles had been losses. Alfred's brother had taken back almost all of the territory they'd conquered in Wessex. They had to fall back to York. Had the gods already decided against him? Had he lost favor with them? He'd buried his mother. He'd buried two of his brothers. Who would bury him? Would he be left lying on the field, forgotten? Or would he be paraded around the streets, a grotesque token of their victory? If the priest came upon his broken corpse, would he take pity on him? Would he speak those Christian rites over him? Or would he walk on without second glance?

*

Heahmund got to see York again a lot earlier than expected. And he couldn't help but be reminded of the last time they had laid siege to this town.

"They have enough troops to keep the ground around York. As long as our troops can't get close enough, they can still get provisions from outside. That way they can hold out in York forever. I do not see a way to win."

"We wait." Aethelred replied curtly.

*

The last time they'd laid siege on York, Heahmund's world had broken down. Ragnarok, he thought now. One second it had been a game of wits and he'd been winning. Just him and Ivar, trying to find out who's smarter. Even though he hadn't even known him yet. And then everything had fallen away so quickly. And all of his hubris... all his power had been stripped away. But more had been taken away that day. How much more had been taken from him he'd only learned upon his return.

And now he was here for a different king, although under the command of the son of the man who'd once before caused their defeat. Aethelred had so far proven less driven by pride than Aethelwulf. But Heahmund had a feeling this time around it wasn't going to be about pride, here at York.

He had not known his doom the first time around. Had not truly fathomed he could be defeated until they'd dragged him off Ivar's horse. York prophecied defeat with every brick of it's walls. Defeat for whom, though? That was the question. A question Heahmund wasn't sure he wanted an answer to.

*

Ivar walked the battlements of York, idly watching the English troops on the horizon. "It seems they've come for us now." he said to Magnus who was walking a little behind him. "Who would have thought."

"Are you afraid, Ivar?" Magnus asked. "Or happy?"

Ivar laughed. "People usually don't ask me if I'm afraid."

"Everyone's afraid from time to time." Magnus replied.

"You are too?" Ivar asked with amusement.

"Of course."

Ivar tilted his head, fully turning around to his half-brother. Slily he regarded him, curiously, but underneath it all there was something darker, something genuine and vulnerable. "Afraid of yourself, too?"

"Oh yes." came Magnus' immediate reply.

Ivar nodded with satisfaction. "You've never been to Kattegat but I think you've come to know me a bit by now. So, tell me, are you still happy to have met your family? Do you still want to be Viking? Or do you wish you could return to Alfred's court?"

"Yes." Magnus replied enthused. "Of course. We truly are a family. You and me, we are one of a kind."

Ivar snorted faintly, a wry smile on his face. "Are we? Well, we certainly received the fair share of our father's insanity."

Magnus gave a sleek smile. "It's not just insanity our parents gave us, though, is it?"

"No. Not just." Ivar agreed wearily. "I know what my parents gave me. You know, they all did not listen. My mother's prophecy. She did not say she was going to bear him a cripple. She said she was going to bear him... a monster."

"Do you know the story of the Minotaur?" Magnus asked. "A queen gives birth to a horrendous monster. Human, with a bull's head. And the king has a labyrinth built, to house the creature. And everyone who ventures in there gets killed. In that story... no one ever wonders, what about the monster? Did it grow up in there? Did it ever know any humans? Was it them who turned it into a monster?"

"Are you trying to console me?" Ivar asked amused.

"No." Magnus smirked. "I'm just telling you a fairy tale."

"You enjoy fairy tales?" slight mock in his voice.

"Oh yes. I loved to read them as a child. All the old stories of the Romans and ancient Greek. Arbitrary, fickle gods and great heroes with terrible fates. Aethelwulf only wanted us to read the bible, but Ecbert, he did not much care for that. Those old gods, they are very much like yours. And they are forgotten now," Magnus added, a malicious glint in his eyes. "Nothing more than fairy tales, indeed. And the places where they once were worshipped now all belong to Jesus Christ."

"I'm not threatened." Ivar said, smiling. "Neither are the gods."

"You never know you're defeated until you are. The king of Wessex used to wear a different crown, now they wear that of Mercia. Do you think my mother knew she was defeated? Or Ecbert? Did your father know?"

"Oh, my father knew."

"I do not mean when he came to England, that last time. He'd been long defeated by then. His last campaign to Frankia, did he know all his glory would desert him? And his kingdom run through his fingers like sand?"

*

"How long are we going to just sit here and wait?" Bjorn asked. "What are we waiting for?"

"We'll starve them out, like the last time." Aethelred replied. "We almost had you, then."

"It won't work that way. The priest is right."

"Have some faith."

"In your god?" Bjorn asked amused.

"In me." Aethelred replied with a slight smile.

*

Ivar and Magnus sat inside the walls of York, drinking wine, the fires at the Saxon camp the only thing lighting up the night.

"My father, when he tried to kill me. He told my mother, among wolves I would not have survived either."

"The Romans." Magnus said. "Their founders were abandoned as infants and raised by wolves. Sometimes wolves are the best family you can get. And sometimes," He tilted his head. "We are the wolves."

"Ah," Ivar leaned in, his smile a row of gleaming teeth. "We're always the wolves. Bjorn and Lagertha straggling to find a new pack, but they don't smell right. The bishop a lone wolf and he doesn't even know it."

"And you, Ivar? What are you?"

"I'm Fenris. Obviously. The question is what are you?"

Magnus shrugged. "My mother was a wolf. My father was a wolf. What other can I be but wolf?"

*

Harald had already been asleep, he did not know what hour is was but darkness had already fully settled around them. He'd been woken by a hand on his shoulder, and when he turned around he saw Magnus' pale countenance looking at him, paler even than usual by whatever pallid light fell in from the outside.

"We leave." Magnus said.

"What?" Harald raised his head from his pillow, staring at Magnus groggily and disbelievingly.

Magnus smiled. "With us gone, Ivar won't be able to hold the territory around York. He'll have to retreat behind the city walls, and will be truly stuck there."

"You do not care about your brother, do you?" Harald had no love for Ivar, still he felt a certain chilling unease at Magnus' callousness.

"Why would I? They're not my brothers. What does blood matter? I don't know them. They don't love me, why should I love them? I did have a sibling, a brother maybe, who knows? Who was killed by Ecbert, still in my mother's womb."

"Ivar and I are allies..."

"You said it yourself, Ivar plans to betray you. For once be the smarter, betray him first. You will never get another chance."

Harald stared up at Magnus, ghoulish and ghostly, looking more dangerous and fragile than he ever had in the light of the moon, and he thought hard.

*

In the morning, like a mirage, the troops fortifying the terrain outside York were gone, leaving not even a single flag behind. Bjorn could barely trust his eyes. Harald and Ivar had finally split up and he had no idea why. But well, Harald was fickle, he'd turned from Ragnar once before, when he'd concluded that the favor of the gods was no longer with him. Either way, it seemed that the favor of the gods or maybe of the Christian god, was with them now. York would fall, one way or another. Bjorn remembered his words to Ivar at their brother's funeral. And he feared the next pyre would be his to erect. Or would Ivar end in a cage like their father?

"What the fuck happened there?" Bjorn asked, perplexed.

The priest who stood beside him, his inscrutable gaze also directed towards the walls of York, replied, something almost smug about the faint superior smile he always seemed to be wearing, "The Lord provides."

Bjorn shook his head once more in disbelief. "It sure as fuck seems that way."

*

And, indeed, with Harald's army left in the middle of the night, Ivar could not hold his position against Aethelred's army, as Magnus had prophecied. And when he retreated into the city, Aethelred followed up. 

York was under siege again.

*

Ivar once more stood on the battlements of York. There was no more regarding the Saxon troops in the distance, they were right here. Right at his doorstep. He could see the priest walk around the camp, just out of range of his archers, not that he'd have used them, not against him. There he walked, with gravitas and danger, a wild animal underneath all that holiness.   
He saw his brothers too, walking among the Christians like they belonged, Bjorn too tall to not stand out among them. And there was Lagertha. For her he'd have used an arrow, like she'd done with his mother. But, alas, they were just out of reach, weren't they? And Ivar had nowhere to go, nowhere to go but to stand here and watch them. Nothing to do but watch the priest. So much pride about his strut. And the people parted where he walked. Did they do it out of reverence or out of fear? They'd been so close, for a few days, here in these walls. So close once more as they'd been in Kattegat. And now the circle was closing and they were back in York, where it had all started, where he'd given Heahmund his horse and his respect and maybe received some in return. Where he'd had him dragged off his horse and put into chains. Maybe it was his turn now. But Ivar had been a prisoner of the King of Wessex once before, he had no desire to repeat it. He had no desire to end like his father.  
He'd outwitted the English once before, in exactly the same place. Outwitted everyone but the priest. He could do it again. He could find a way.

*

Aethelred didn't make the same mistake Aethelwulf had made, and this time, inside York they were truly starving.

What are you going to do? Heahmund thought, watching the battlements of York. Again the telltale smoke of corpses being burned was rising up. For days now. As it had done back then. A ruse. It wasn't a ruse now.

Heahmund felt regret. Was that what had made Ivar give him his horse back then? The wish to see an opponent not be finished yet?

*

Ivar stumbled on his way out into the streets of York, and suddenly he was lying on the ground. Beside him rotten food and a corpse no one had cleaned away yet. In the last battle, his chariot had broken. Floki hadn't been there to repair it. Floki hadn't been there for a long time. Ivar had been alone for so long now. 

He froze in shock when he recognized the sob that tore out of his throat for what it was.

'Everything is getting darker'

He thought of the woman at home who'd betrayed him. The people who followed him because they feared him. He thought of his dead mother. And the father who'd never wanted him to live at all. And he thought of another man's child. A child that depended on him to raise it. A child he wasn't going to fail as his father had failed him.

Ivar removed the braces from his legs and crawled back, the way he always had, through garbage and filth. Like he'd done all his life. He knew what he had to do. 

*

The envoys of both parties met just outside the gates of York.

"We will give up York if you guarantee us unhindered retreat." Ivar proposed.

"We can just wait until you starve." Aethelred replied.

"Yes. You could. But I could poison the wells inside and make sure no one can live there for years. I think the question is how badly you want your city back."

"You will just leave?"

"Look at me. I can barely stand." Ivar laughed at his own joke. 

He was looking pale and frail, indeed. But Ivar Lothbrok would be a threat for as long as he drew breath, Heahmund knew that. Yet, all the while he stood silently in the background. He could not speak here. What words was he supposed to speak? He, the man who'd once refused any chance of peace with these heathens. And he knew Aethelred wouldn't agree to this treaty. He was his father's son. And it was the smart thing too. This was the only chance anyone would ever get at taking down Ivar. Yet, Heahmund could not bring himself to advice to this course of reason. So silent he remained.

*

"You didn't want to sacrifice one city?" Bjorn asked, later, after the train of Vikings had left the city walls. The soldiers had finished searching the city for hidden traps, and Bjorn and Aethelred stood on the battlements. 

While Aethelred was looking at his newly reclaimed territory, Bjorn was looking at Aethelred standing there, victorious and proud.

"It's an important city." Aethelred replied. "Seat of one of the four archbishops. As a matter of fact, actually my diocese." There was a snort.

"Thank you." Bjorn said.

"He's your brother." was all Aethelred replied.

*

"We both got what we wanted, today." Bjorn said to Heahmund during the sermon which for the first time Aethelred held, since he was the bishop of the city.

"What do you mean?" Heahmund asked nonchalantly.

"Today there were two people in this army glad to see Ivar leave." was all Bjorn replied.

"Obviously you and Ubbe would want your brother to live."

"How long has it been since you last spoke the truth? Do you even remember?"

Heahmund remembered all too well. A couple months ago. In this very same city which had then been in very different hands.

*

"What were you doing at the service?" Lagertha asked him, when he emerged from the cathedral. "Do you think about converting, like Ubbe?"

Bjorn snorted. "Of course not."

"That's good. None of what you've been doing with the prince has been smart, you know that."

"Just because you're unhappy doesn't mean I need to be."

"Where do you think this is going?"

Bjorn shook himself, irritated, cracking his neck joints. "It's not like I plan to settle down with him."

"You pretty much married every woman you ever slept with."

*

When Bjorn went to see Aethelred, later on, the other was just stripping off his priestal gowns. He put the garments to the side with care.

"Thinking about damnation again?" Bjorn asked wryly.

Aethelred stepped towards him. "Not right now, no." He smirked.

*

Heahmund sought out the room which he knew to have been Ivar's. He picked up the tapestry still lying on the bed and hung it on the wall. Then he remained aimlessly, finally perusing through whatever Ivar may have left behind.

In one of the drawers he found one of Ivar's small knives. It could have been left behind by accident. Heahmund regarded it for a moment, then put it in his boot.

*  
SOMEWHERE AT THE COAST OF WESSEX

"So we just leave, Ivar?" Gunnhild asked. "And go back to Kattegat?"

"No." Ivar replied, making a face. "Of course we don't leave."


	13. A king's ransom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more a last minute rewrite of 50% of the chapter, so sorry for typos if you find them.

Can't bribe the door on the way to the sky  
You look pretty good down here  
But you ain't really good

(Harry Styles - Sign of the times)

***

"Ivar hasn't left." Alfred stated.

"No, he hasn't." Aethelred replied. "I'm sorry, brother."

"No. It's alright. I'm sure you made the best possible decision, given the circumstances."

"We had hoped the heathen army would split up." Heahmund inserted. "But while they did split up, they're not attacking each other. Harald's army is attacking Mercia, while we have no information on Ivar's position.

"We must concentrate on Ivar." Bjorn said. "He's the bigger threat. Harald we can take care of later. But if we leave Ivar to his own devices, we will regret it."

"Ivar is weakened and has lost many men." Heahmund retorted. "While several cities in Mercia have already fallen."

*

"Don't worry so much," Bjorn said, kissing Aethelred's jaw. "I'm sure Alfred doesn't blame you."

"But I am to blame, am I not?" Aethelred returned, then shook his head in irritation as if to shake off his current worries, and pulled Bjorn closer again.

They made short work of their clothes. It was still the middle of the day, but Bjorn wouldn't complain, and maybe it'd even help take Aethelred's mind of all his constant worries for a moment.

"My goodness!" the truly shocked exclamation sounded from the door.

Alfred stood halfway into the room, his hand still on the door handle. "I should have knocked. I'll come back another time." he excused himself rather collected and turned on his heel, leaving the way he'd come.

"No. No!" Aethelred pushed Bjorn away, "Brother, it's not–" barely stopping to throw a gown on before he ran after his brother. 

Bjorn sighed, putting pants on himself, before he went after his lover.

He walked into Alfred's chamber without knocking. Aethelred was kneeling before his brother, crying. 

"Please don't hate me! Please–"

Alfred looked mostly ill at ease and helpless, trying to get a word in edgewise but failing at Aethelred's self-condemnation.

"This is stupid." Bjorn greeted them both.

Aethelred's head jerked around, staring at him in tear-streaked consternation.

Alfred cleared his throat pointedly. "Brother, for the love of God, get off the floor." he said in exasperation.

"Believe me!" Aethelred urged, having maybe gotten up, but only in exchange for clinging to Alfred's hand like a drowning man. "It was– I will never happen again! I'll go to a monastery– A pilgrimage! I'll– I'll take–"

"Be quiet!" Alfred actually raised his voice now. "You could not imagine of how little consequence it is to me who shares your bed."

Aethelred looked as if struck.

Alfred went on. "You stood by me, even when you did not share my opinion, even when it went against all you believe in. I asked much of you, brother. Forgiving you this, is asking very little of me. There is nothing to forgive."

*

"He said he doesn't care!" Bjorn said exasperated.

"How could he not care?!" Aethelred shouted back.

"What difference does it make? Huh? You're a grown man, you make your own decisions!"

"Have you never been afraid to disappoint someone?!"

"I have." Bjorn stated grimly. "Still, not too afraid not to go my own way."

"And see where that's brought you." Aethelred returned sharply, catching himself immediately and staring at Bjorn in something like shock.

"See where it's brought you, always doing others' bidding." Bjorn replied with equal bile.

*  
MERCIA

They sent him to talk to Harald. And honestly, Bjorn was glad to get away from court, was glad to see some of his own countrymen again, be they his enemy or not. And that was cowardice too, maybe, to flee from a conflict rather then to resolve it. But maybe it was just human.

"Bjorn Ironside!" Harald greeted him jovially and exuberant as always.

Bjorn shook his hand. "Well met, King Harald. Magnus." He nodded at his half-brother, who stood beside Harald with casual ease.

"You're no longer with Ivar. Can we not come to an understanding?" Bjorn asked, when they were sitting inside, each a cup of ale in hand.

"I think not, Bjorn Ironside."

"King Alfred would pay you well for peace. Additionally you could settle with us in East Anglia."

"I'm no farmer, Bjorn." Harald replied, still friendly. "Your father was. My ambition has always been to be a king."

"You, too, have lost half your army when you split with Ivar." Bjorn gave to consider.

"I'm confident I can manage. But thank you for your concern." Harald returned, smirking.

"Very well, then. I guess there is nothing left to be said. We shall surely meet again in battle." Bjorn got up.

On his way out, Magnus walked beside him.

"So this is what you've chosen?" Bjorn said. "Was any of it the truth? Are you even our brother?"

"Oh, yes. All of it was true." Magnus shrugged. "Did you think I had no ambition?" He laughed heartily. "Did you think, I, son of a legendary king and a ruthless, feared queen, did not have the ambition to have a crown of myself? That it is not my right? Why should I settle for anything less than that? My mother killed her entire family, anyone who stood in her way. Why should Ecbert's weak and meek offspring reign in the kingdom that is mine by blood and right? Why should I not conquer by force, as my father has done before? Would it not be a sweet irony if it were the Viking warriors who brought me the throne of Mercia, as it were the Viking warriors of my father who brought the throne to my mother, back then? Ecbert was smart and cruel, and even he misjudged my mother's danger. His sons are not half the men he was, they could not see through my act. Neither could you, Bjorn Ironside. I am Viking. Even you can not deny it by now. But most of all, I am a prince of Mercia. The last of my bloodline. And I'll sit on that throne." His smile turned sly, knowing. "Oh, and when you get back to court, tell Alfred that the plans have changed."

"What?" Bjorn stared at him stupefied.

"Oh, yes." Magnus' smile broadened, tinged with cruelty in a way he'd only ever seen on Ivar. "Alfred sent me here to spy for him. See, I've been living at court for a while now. Aethelwulf sent me away, but Alfred searched for me. Granted he didn't have to look far, as I was already hiding at court, but the sentiment counts. And I was touched, true. But I payed up. Did you truly think it was luck you figured out their position at Leicester? That Alfred would guess correctly the moves with which Ivar'd attack? Did you think it was luck Harald abandoned Ivar at York?"

"But..."

"Still, you see, I have better options now. So I'll stay. And he mustn't expect to receive anymore messages from me."

"I could tell Harald right now."

"Aw, brother." Magnus laughed. "He wouldn't believe you. See, I hung the moon and stars for him. And he will give me the crown of Mercia. It's a little embarrassing that all I had to do for that was sleep with him." He shrugged. "But I guess we all have our blind spots, don't we, Bjorn? Tell Alfred it was nothing personal. We can even be allies sometime again."

"You are..." Bjorn stared at him in disbelief.

"Don't pretend to be hurt, Bjorn. You don't know me. We don't know each other. Alfred has a reason to feel hurt. But even he doesn't know me. We've known each other throughout our childhood, then a couple of months before I left for Harald's camp. We're strangers. Go now, Bjorn Ironside. And if you're smart you're going to concentrate on Ivar. My ambition will be quelled with Mercia. But if you attack us, we will destroy you."

*  
WESSEX

"You were working with him." Bjorn told Alfred accusingly, once he'd returned.

Alfred was only minorly fazed. "I had to keep him a secret. People at court would not have been happy about me bringing him back."

"And now you've unleashed that crazy little freak!"

"He's not so bad. He... is very bitter about what happened to him. I did not see his ambition, though. That was my mistake."

"He's controlling Harald."

Alfred raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yeah, I know." Bjorn agreed. "You don't know Harald like I do. But it makes sense when you think about it."

"Harald's thus inclined as you and my brother?"

Bjorn snorted. "No. But he wants to be loved about as desperately as my brother Ivar, without even having understood the concept of love."

"That sounds rather sad."

Bjorn tilted his head. "Yes. I guess, they are both rather sad men."

*

"Did Aethelred know?" Bjorn asked.

"Of course he knew." Alfred replied.

"So he was at court the whole time and you sent him to spy on us." Bjorn said.

"Yes. And once I realised I could trust you, I sent him to spy on Ivar and Harald."

Bjorn snorted. "That sounds like something my father would have done."

*

He should maybe have been mad at Alfred, or not be mad at either of them. But he understood Alfred's secrecy and he maybe would have understood Aethelred's silence too, had things been different right now. As they were, it stung. It made him think again of all his mother's warning words. He'd told her he did not plan to settle down with him. But that did not mean it meant nothing. In fact, many things had been said and done between the two of them that meant, for what it concerned Bjorn at this time and place, everything.

*

"I told you we shouldn't have trusted him." Judith said.

"Mother," Alfred replied puzzled and exasperated. "you weren't happy with welcoming him back at court to begin with. You always had a problem with him. Even when we were children. Ever since Kwenthrith's death. I do not understand why. You and her were friends."

"I always knew he was a contestant for the throne of Mercia."

She remembered him well. That shy, blond boy, who had been nothing like his mother, back then. Always so desperate to impress all of them, to fit in. He hadn't been like that before. He'd been a rambunctious and open child, until his mother's death. When Judith'd looked at him, all she had seen were his mother's last moments. She'd never even told Aethelwulf what she'd done. How could she have? He'd loved Kwenthrith. She could not tell her son, either, that it was guilt that had made her recoil from Magnus. But what she'd said was true as well. If Magnus had been an exceptionally dull boy, maybe then she could have received him in charity at court. But he'd been a quick-witted and sharp child. He'd taken to Ecbert's lessons in the same way Alfred had.

Aethelwulf had always steadfastly insisted that Magnus had run away. Ecbert had not been happy. What exactly he'd planned to do with him, after Ragnar had denied any connection to him, she didn't know. He probably would have been locked up for the rest of his days.

She knew Aethelwulf would have liked to look for Magnus, once Ecbert had died. But they had had bigger problems then. And the problems had not seemed to end. But on his deathbed, Aethelwulf had asked of her to find Magnus. She'd given him her word, even though she'd had no intention of following through with it. It had been Alfred then, who'd found Magnus, only shortly after that. Some things, it seemed, were out of your control. No matter how hard you tried.

*

"I'm going to inspect our fortifications along the coastline." Aethelred told him, ill-at-ease and stilted, something furtive about his eyes flickering to Bjorn and away again as he tried to keep up an official demeanor which was for naught anyway, because on an official basis Aethelred had no need to notify Bjorn about his whereabouts in any form. "I'll be away for a couple of weeks."

Bjorn took it for what it was. Asking to tag along would have done nothing other than push Aethelred in a corner. "We'll talk when you get back." Bjorn offered as a sign of peace.

Aethelred looked almost relieved. "Yes, we will." he replied with a clipped nod.

*

Alfred himself did not seem to notice how much he'd destroyed. But then again, he hadn't destroyed anything, had he? It had been Aethelred who'd done it.

"Isn't it funny how one puzzle piece falls into another." Alfred said to Bjorn, right now, as they sat together at dinner. "Think about history. If Alexander the Great had lived a little longer, if Caesar hadn't been murdered..."

"I don't know who those guys are."

"Then let's look at our situation... What would have happened if Ecbert hadn't sent Ragnar to his death? If Ivar hadn't taken Heahmund with him. If I hadn't sent Magnus to spy on Ivar. We think ourselves so smart, but there are so many game pieces moving at any time, and we don't even realise we're just one of them. We might be the king and not the pawn, but in the end, it doesn't make much of a difference."

"I often wondered what would have happened if Athelstan had not died. If my mother hadn't left my father. And I think, maybe, maybe, it all started falling apart that night, when I saw my father moving to Aslaug's bed. And I think, had I stopped him, back then, maybe things would be different now. But that's foolish. He was a smart man who made some dumb decisions. It didn't fall to me to keep him from them. We don't decide our fates. As you said, there's too much we don't have any influence over."

"Yes. Otherwise, how could it be, that I, a bastard, am on the throne, while Magnus, a prince, lived on the street?"

"Or a cripple who's leading armies." Bjorn added with a chuckle. "Or you could just accept what I've been saying all along. You're both beloved by the gods. As my father and Athelstan were."

"Not forever." Alfred gave to consider.

"If people make dumb enough decisions, there's not much even the gods can do."

"Is that so?" Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"I'm pretty sure it is." Bjorn grinned at him.

*

They should have concentrated on Ivar, as Magnus had told them. But with Ivar's troops strewn into the wind, and Ivar's location unknown, Harald, or more precisely Magnus, had seemed the bigger problem. After all, they weren't going to let him take Mercia just like that.

So no one saw it coming. The surprise attack while Aethelred was still inspecting the fortifications along the coast. He had only a small group of soldiers with him. It was territory they'd long taken back from the Vikings. But Ivar had dared. Had dared to hide deep in Alfred's territory where no one expected him. 

And then he struck. There were no survivors. The fortifications were burned down. Aethelred was missing.

*  
WESSEX, SOMEWHERE

Aethelred looked at Ivar through blackened eyes, held on both sides by Ivar's bodyguards. "I gave you a chance."

"And you shouldn't have." Ivar commented pleasantly.

"Go ahead then. Kill me. You have no honor."

"It was your mistake assuming I had."

*

Aethelred looked up when Ivar walked in. He'd been chained up in darkness for a couple of hours.

Ivar smiled. "You were vicious at York, Aethelred. Like a bloodhound."

"I let you live." Aethelred returned angrily.

"Yes. Yes. But before that. I was impressed. I thought there's finally a king who knows how to deal with us. But in the end you made the same mistake as those before you."

"I am no king."

"No. No, certainly not. But you came closer to finishing us off than Aethelwulf or Ecbert ever did."

Aethelred snorted. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"You should."

"So, what is it you have planned for me?"

"Not sure yet." Ivar sat down beside the chained prince. "For now I'd talk to you. How's your brother?"

"Well." Aethelred spit the word out like it was a threat. "Do not think him defeated by my death. There are enough who can pick up where I left off."

"You mean like Heahmund or Bjorn? Or maybe Ubbe and Lagertha?" He chuckled. "How are my brothers, by the way?"

"Loyal to Alfred." Aethelred replied with sharp glee in his voice.

Ivar wiggled his head contemplatively. "That remains to be seen. Bjorn is only there for Lagertha. And Ubbe is simply running from me."

"Bjorn may not care about you, but he cares about Alfred."

"Does he now?"

"Have you ever wondered why it is that everyone abandons you?" Aethelred continued sardonically.

"Oh yes." Ivar smiled benevolently. "Speaking of people who abandoned me, how is my priest?"

"Heahmund?"

"Is there another?"

"Oh, I'd give him back to you with a happy heart. He continues on his sinful path without repentance."

Ivar tilted his head. "And you, Aethelred? Are you altogether without sin? Are you that famous person who will cast the first stone?" He watched in gleeful interest as Aethelred blanched. "No. I see you are not."

"My sins are on my soul, but they don't affect others." Aethelred spoke on bravely. "I have not murder on my conscience."

"What then?" Ivar asked curiously.

"That is none of your concern."

"Tell me your sins and I'll let you live." Ivar proposed.

"You're a liar." Aethelred uttered with disgust.

"True. Yes." Ivar shrugged good-naturedly.

*

"I'm going to talk to Ivar myself!" Bjorn demanded.

"I want my brother back as desperately as you." Alfred pacified him.

"Do you even know why he's out there?!" Bjorn asked angrily.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh," Bjorn pursed his lips in disgust. "He's so fucking worried about your approval he exiled himself out there because he couldn't be around either of us any longer."

"Why would he be worried about my approval?" Alfred asked flabbergasted. "I'm the one who has to try and live up to him."

"Does he know that?"

"You were there." Alfred returned, angry himself now.

"Well, he's not convinced either way."

Alfred seemed about to reply something then stopped and pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead before he took a deep breath and went on to speak calm once more. "Let's try to have this conversation with my brother present, don't you think?"

Bjorn nodded, shoulders hunched. "Yeah. Okay. Still, I'm going."

*  
IVAR'S CAMP

"I wonder, will your brother even want you back?" Ivar gave to consider. It had been a shot in the dark, but immediately he saw fear and doubt flickering up in the prince's eyes. "No one's inquired about you yet. Maybe Alfred's quite glad to be rid of you. For what Magnus told me he's found a replacement for you in Bjorn." There was something at the mentioning of Bjorn. Not the anger or disgust Ivar had expected. "I guess Bjorn will get the lead of the army, now you're gone." Again this seemed to be the wrong approach, talking about Bjorn did not bring up the expected anger, disgust or maybe rivalry. There seemed to be an issue there, Ivar could not figure out what it was though, there'd been something almost vulnerable about him for a moment, as if Ivar'd unexpectedly stumbled upon a secret. And while Ivar hated to stumble, he did love other people's secrets.

Before he could continue with more inquisitive questions, though, Aethelred addressed him harshly, "Do not talk to me, Cain. God will come for you and punish you. For your sins, for your hubris. There will be no place for you to hide. And you will recognize the false idols you worshipped when you feel the wrath of the Lord." The Saxon prince turned his face away in disgust.

"Quite some words there." Ivar said. "A man once told me something similar. Right before I split his skull." He leaned in closer. "What is the wrath of your god to me, when my own wrath is already all-encompassing? Look at me." He grabbed Aethelred's face and turned it. "I am already marked, for all the world to see." His voice was an angry, penetrating whisper, foreboding, like the rattle of a snake before it struck. "The priest once told me the story of Job." The softer Ivar's voice got the more menacing it became, crawling under the skin. "What is your god going to do to me? Take my loved ones? Ransack my home? Strike me with disability? Look at me. Like the snake from your garden Eden, I crawled through the dirt all my life. I buried my parents. I watched the murderess of my mother take over my home. I've lost every person I ever loved, have been betrayed by whoever I put my trust and love in. Now, tell me, Aethelred, you that are so very pious, what has your god struck you with? Could you have lived through what I have suffered?" Almost seductive his voice was now, in its familiarity. "Could you have kept your faith?" And then, just one word, spoken with derision and finality, like a verdict spoken in trial. "Pharisee."

*

"Brother!" Ivar greeted jovially.

"Is he alive?" Bjorn asked through clenched teeth.

Ivar smiled broadly. "Now, Bjorn, would I do that to you? I'm not your mother, after all. I care about other's feelings."

"How do you know...?"

Ivar's eyes lit up with amusement and surprise. "Well, I didn't until now."

*

"Bjorn is here." Ivar informed Aethelred. "To beg for your release." He watched Aethelred's reaction very closely. "Ah... So it is true. Interesting. You've indeed become so much more interesting now."

"What are you on about?"

"Don't worry. It's good to be interesting in my eyes."

"I do not care about your opinion." Aethelred returned sharply.

Ivar smirked. "Yes. I do even believe that. Not mine, no." Ivar regarded him for a moment longer, then let himself to the floor beside Aethelred, by his cane. "Well, then. It seems we've become something like family, haven't we?" He laughed heartily at Aethelred's scandalized expression.

"I still do not know what you're implying." Aethelred ground out.

Ivar leaned in closer, confidentially. "Well, I'm not implying anything, really." he told him cheerfully. "Implying would mean I'm not sure about it. But you see, my brother's not the most subtle, none of them are, really. Well, except Magnus. But then again, is he even my brother?" Ivar threw Aethelred a knowing look. "What I'm trying to 'imply', as you put it, is that you and my brother are fucking each other." Ivar smiled broadly.

"We are not." Aethelred replied, words hard and clipped, shock written all over his face.

"Oh, well, why the long face?" Ivar asked gleefully. "He's not by far the dumbest of my brother's, not the dullest either."

"You insult me."

"I might still sacrifice you to my gods later on, so I wouldn't be too worried about insults in the meantime."

"Whether you kill me or not, I won't have you slander my name."

"I'm not sure what exactly you plan to do against it." Ivar replied.

Aethelred stared at him, dumbstruck.

"But, let's not argue," Ivar went on amicably. "I'm most interested how things came to happen between you and my brother. Maybe it does run in the family," he mused. "This affinity to Christians." He looked again at Aethelred. "Come on, speak freely, who's going to believe my words anyway? Slandering the name of a good Christian prince." He winked.

"You know nothing about what's between me and Bjorn." Aethelred said tonelessly.

"Exactly. That's why I'm asking." When Aethelred didn't say anything else, Ivar snorted. "You Christians and your sin. Shit, you sure know how to ruin your own lives. You might die tomorrow or in the next hour, by my hand. The only one who's judgement you should still care about is your god. And I'm pretty sure he already knows every little secret of yours. So, you're really saying you're too ashamed to talk to me about it?"

"I am not ashamed." Aethelred said, for the first time looking at Ivar again. "It is simply none of your business. Why should I tell you anything, for you to mock me?"

"So you do care about him enough not to want me to make fun of your relationship?" Ivar deduced curiously. "Who tells you I'd mock your relationship? He's my brother after all."

"You don't have a reputation to overly care about your brothers. He's cares about you, though." Aethelred added accusatorily.

"Does he?" Ivar replied noncommitantly. Then paused and regarded Aethelred more closely. "Oh, I see now. It wasn't stupidity. It wasn't a mistake."

"What?"

"York."

"Bjorn would mourn your death." Aethelred simply said.

"So I'm right?"

"Maybe, at the time, I'd have liked to believe that you'd keep your word, however little chance of that. Where I to kill you in battle, that'd be that. It's another thing to have you die by my order."

"I'm not sure my brother appreciates your concern."

"He appreciates it more than you realise. Clearly." Aethelred shot back.

"Well, it can't be helped, can it? Me and my brothers will war against each other until I or that bitch Lagertha are dead."

"Your war is with me." Aethelred said harshly, all of a sudden leaning as close to Ivar as his chains allowed, their faces almost touching. "You better not forget that."

Ivar smiled slightly. "Oh yes. You've proven that without doubt. Whatever will your brother do with you gone?"

"Kill you and destroy your army, I assume." Aethelred stated with a grimly satisfied smile.

Ivar's smile broadened. "Whatever will my brother do with you gone?"

"He'll survive."

"Really? Do you think my brother so shallow and... fickle? Or more precisely, are you? You don't strike me as particularly fickle."

Aethelred let out an exasperated snort. "Have you really come to talk to me about love?"

Ivar leaned back on his arms, his smile wide and delighted. "You don't know me very well, otherwise you'd know that's exactly the reason I came to talk. It is love then?"

Aethelred let out an annoyed groan, hand reaching up to cover his face, being stopped midway by the chain. He huffed and looked straight at Ivar again. "Good Lord, what does it matter to you?! I'm going to die here, and it won't matter! None of it will! You knowing will matter about as much as all of my dumb worries! Whether I'd fucked Bjorn before I left or agonized over my brother despising me now, it would be meaningless now! Is that what you wanted to know?!" Aethelred took a couple of deep breaths.

Ivar looked at him interestedly, head tilted. "I have to say, I know a thing or two about not living up to expectations. About shame too. As you put it so nicely, none of it really matters. And I did my fair share of trying to live up, as well. I tried to live up to my father, I tried to live up to my brothers, I tried to live up to an entire city. And in all the things that mattered I'd already long surpassed them. And in all the things you can't change..." Ivar smacked his lips. "Well... people will never love you for anything other than who you are. See, my mother loved me, and I loved her, despite that we were horrible to each other at times. She loved me for nothing. And others I gave everything and still they would not love me, could not love me." Ivar paused. "And in your particular case... You cared more whether your brother knows than whether your god knows?" Ivar gave Aethelred a questioning look. "Shouldn't it be the other way around? And your god knows everything, right, so you thought he'd forgive you, since you continued anyway? And if your god forgives you, shouldn't your brother too?"

"He does."

"He does." Ivar nodded pensively. "So we are both fortunate men with brothers who love us. Then what's your problem?"

Aethelred held up his chained hands. And Ivar tipped back his head and laughed.

"Why tell me all this?" Aethelred asked.

Ivar sobered up, then shrugged, "I'm doing someone a favor."

"Who? Me? What's it matter, you're going to kill me."

Ivar shook his head in lenient exasperation. "I'm not going to kill you."

Aethelred snorted. "Sure."

*

"We should sacrifice him." Gunnhild said. "That would please the gods."

"Yes," Ivar agreed. "It would please the gods." He nodded. "But we're not doing it."

"What? Why?"

"Because I said so." Ivar smiled.

*

"We will make the exchange, brother." Ivar said. "If you meet my terms. Oh, and something else... Just a little matter. Send the priest."

Bjorn's face worked for a moment. Then he asked, "Can I see him?"

"No. You'll see him soon enough... God willing," Ivar added with a cackle.

*  
WINCHESTER

"What now?" Bjorn asked. They'd just sent off the priest, and currently Bjorn was pacing up and down Alfred's office, throwing glances out the window as if the priest were about to return any time soon.

"We wait." Alfred replied, a lot calmer than Bjorn.

"Do you think Ivar actually plans to negotiate?" Bjorn asked, not able to keep silent any longer.

"I don't know. He's your brother, what do you think? All I know is I have to believe it till the last possible moment."

"Tell him." Bjorn suddenly said. "If he comes back, tell him again. Tell him until he believes you. Not for me. Just, do it."

"It was maybe foolish of me to think a few words of mine would negate our father's upbringing. His faith gives my brother strength. But to me it was always very... intangible. Sometimes I think it's not just new translations for the bible we need, sometimes I think we also need new people to read them."

"It surprises me again and again how different you two are. It must be because of Athelstan."

"Oh no." Alfred shook his head with a faint smile. "It's because of Ecbert. Athelstan knew we were not the only country that mattered, the only culture. Ecbert knew we weren't the only time that had mattered. Not the height of civilisation. The ancient greeks went about the ways of yours and my brother, and it didn't stop them from being one of the greatest kingdoms in their time, neither did it stop the Romans. We live in dark times indeed, where everyone deems himself to know best, when truly we know pathetically little."

*  
IVAR'S CAMP

"I've come to exchange the prisoners." Heahmund greeted him stoically. "All the prisoners we made in this war for the life of Prince Aethelred."

"Hm..." Ivar tilted his head, considering. "His brother loves him. Must be nice." His expression went from melancholically pensive to exaggeratedly happy in an instant. "Come in. Come in, priest. This is not as nice as York." He made a wide gesture at the camp. "But I can still offer you a drink and a seat."

"That is not what this is, Ivar. I wish to see the prince. Now."

"The Archbishop of York, you mean. Oh, he's fine. Don't worry. And make no mistake, it goes exactly as I say. I don't care either way about the prisoners. But you really want Aethelred back."

"Why are you making the exchange then?"

"Huh." Ivar shrugged with a wry grin. "You know me."

Heahmund just scowled at him.

"Don't be so distrustful, priest. I'm not doing anything. You'll leave here with your prince. Unhindered."

"I do not wish to talk to you."

"What is it, priest? You seem turmoiled."

"And you, Ivar?" Heahmund returned scathingly. "You nearly died at York. You lost half your army."

"Yes, I misjudged someone. Again. And still I'm better off than King Harald." He chuckled, even if Heahmund could not make sense of that statement. "What about you? I talked to Aethelred." Ivar scrunched up his nose in a lenient sort of mock. "He's emotional. It's easy to rile him up. We talked about you. How things are at court. He has some very strong opinions. What do you think would happen if I sent you back with his head? Would Alfred have you killed?"

"Probably not." Heahmund replied evenly. "My position greatly depends on your threat, so for now I'm save. And even afterwards. King Alfred is too honorable to forget a debt. I would not be welcome at court, but I'd keep my office."

"What a life. A pariah among your people. When once you were a beacon of godliness." A mean smile.

"Do not mock me."

"Oh, but I am right."

*

Heahmund felt Ivar's eyes on himself as he washed off the dust from the travel. When he turned around, indeed, Ivar was there. But he didn't avert his gaze when Heahmund's eyes met his, smiling pleased. Heahmund snorted and went back to what he'd been doing.

"Do you regret telling me your deepest and darkest secrets, priest? Is that why you're so angry?" Ivar asked.

"You should have learned by now not to trust a word from me."

"Yes. Yes. And maybe that has made you careless, thinking you can speak the truth to me." Ivar smirked. "Maybe it is because you're actually glad I'm still alive, no matter how much trouble I cause for your country. Now, don't get angry, priest." Ivar laughed. "No. Stay. I'm sorry. I'll behave now."

*

The evening came and the priest seemed to calm down with it, some of that standoffishness leaving him, making room for... melancholy?

"Have some wine, priest. Relax. You're not among enemies. For once." Ivar chuckled.

Heahmund frowned at him.

"I apologize again, priest." Ivar said, smiling. "I'll try to tread more carefully."

The priest's scowl deepened. "Oh, I know well mocking me is your favorite sport."

"Actually, I much prefer it when we are honest with each other." Ivar said, a gentler edge to his smile.

Heahmund looked tired. "I'm not in the mood to bare my soul to you."

"A game, then? For old time's sake." Ivar pulled out the board.

Heahmund chuckled weakly. "As opposed to all the other games?"

Ivar rolled a figurine between his fingers. "No. You are not in the mood for games. I can see that. Let me tell you a story, then. Magnus told me a story of the king who founded England. King Arthur, who had a magic sword, and a wizard who protected him. Some say the wizard was a shaman of the Picts who lived there. Others say he was actually a Christian priest. I like that story."

"The story does not end well." Heahmund gave to consider.

"Ah, but Merlin waits for Arthur to return. Maybe it is me. Maybe I have returned, after centuries, to reign over England. Maybe you have been waiting for me. Maybe the sword you're fighting with belonged to me, once upon a time, and you've been keeping it for me."

"I didn't take you to be so sentimental."

"Does the thought not appeal to you? A higher meaning. Is that not what you are looking for?"

"Isn't everyone? Aren't you as well?"

*

Later that night Ivar found the priest pacing outside his tent, adrift and haunted. His eyes latched onto Ivar like he'd finally found a point to tether himself to.

Ivar walked towards him.

The priest's voice while low was urgent and despairing. "I'm beginning to recognize the futility of my endeavours. It feels like I've become a caricature of myself. Donning my robes like a jester or mummer. Making mockery of the words I once held dearest to my heart. I knew my place, before I met you, Ivar. But you've awoken something truly terrible inside me. And I can't seem to put it to sleep again. I realise now, the demon I see in my dreams, amongst fire and carnage, is me. That creature, lusty for blood and flesh alike."

*

"You can leave now, priest." Ivar said gently, in the morning.

"Already?" Heahmund asked, wry and doubtful.

"For now. I'll see you again."

*

Aethelred looked up. It was Ivar.

"You're going home." Ivar told him, crawling towards where Aethelred was chained on the floor.

"Am I?"

"Oh, yes. Did you ever doubt me? I told you I wasn't going to kill you."

Aethelred snorted. "I didn't think you expected me to believe that."

"So little faith." Ivar smiled. He crawled even closer, until their faces were nearly touching. "Give my regards to Bjorn."

*

They'd been waiting for hours, Bjorn pacing up and down the throne room, Alfred clutching the arm rests of his throne hard enough his knuckles turned white, constantly shouting for a messenger for news, and Judith looked like she was about to crush the stem of her wine glass. Bjorn had hated it when Ivar had sent him back to fetch Heahmund to continue the negotiations. It had felt like he'd lost all power to change the outcome, when really he hadn't had any power to begin with.

It seemed surreal, when finally the messenger returned to tell them that Heahmund had returned with Aethelred.

They all rushed to the courtyard, Alfred dropping all pretense of dignity, grace or order, lunging for his brother and throwing his arms around him. Bjorn did not know where he and Aethelred stood, but it did not matter, he did not even care how it would be perceived from the outside, when Alfred finally let go, Bjorn pulled Aethelred close.

"I'm so glad your alive." he whispered against the other's head. Then let go of him again and left the family to their reunion.

On his way back inside he passed the priest. Bjorn reached out for Heahmund's arm. "Thank you."

The other only nodded.

*

The return to court had been a whirlwind. One second Aethelred had been sure he was going to die there, the next moment he was back on a horse beside Heahmund, on his way to Winchester. And now here was his brother hugging him, then there was Bjorn all of a sudden, whispering in his ear, and suddenly his brother was clinging to his neck again. And then there was his mother, standing a little to the side, as if she wasn't sure she was allowed. She only reached out to touch his hand, but there were tears in her eyes. Aethelred smiled at her and squeezed her hand back.

*

Aethelred came to his room, later that evening. Bjorn did not know what to expect, he just felt utter relief at Aethelred being alive, an outcome that had seemed as volatile as possible up till now. Everything with Ivar was.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay." Aethelred replied softly, earnestly. He nodded to himself. "I think we need to talk now."

"You should rest–"

"I owe you an explanation."

"No, it's–"

"You see the world very different than I do." Aethelred continued to speak steadfastly. "But that doesn't mean you don't have your own hardships. I know that, even though I often pretend to only see the ways you have it easier and not the ways you have it harder. It's not that I didn't believe my brother when he told me it did not matter to him. It was about me. I was ashamed. Because I was taught that it's a sin. I was ashamed then and I am ashamed now. But that doesn't change anything. Shame did not stop me in the past, and it will not stop me in the future. Because deep down, I do not believe in this shame."

"And you shouldn't." Bjorn said, feeling marvel at how everything that had went wrong so suddenly would just right itself in the same way. He stepped towards Aethelred, closing his arms around him and kissing the top of his head. Aethelred lifted his head and theirs lips found each other. Tired and relieved, like drowning men drawing breath again.

"I thought he was going was going to kill you." Bjorn admitted huskily, when they broke away from each other again.

"I think he didn't because of you." Aethelred replied pensively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter deals both with Heahmund's death on the show as well as giving Lagertha her dignity back. (Spoiler alert: Heahmund doesn't die, neither is he in love with Lagertha ;))


	14. The sword of God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I've been waiting to post this chapter for so long!!! (It's one of my favorites in case you didn't notice ;), I hope you'll like it as well.)

I spent so much time trying to make you happy  
I don't think you ever could be happy

And when you think of my body on yours, don't forget  
Once I would have died for you   
But that was then

(Anne-Marie - Then)

***

His way had led him here first thing, still in his clothes dusty from the travel. For a lost moment Heahmund just stood there in front of Plegmund's cell, not quite knowing why he'd sought out the man who'd never been anything but an adversary. He looked at Plegmund, now, almost helplessly, appealing to something like understanding.

"I realise their looks." Heahmund said. "And I know that I am changed."

"What are you talking about?" Plegmund replied. "They have always been afraid of you. Did you really not notice? There was always something not quite right about you. You could not make up for it by saying your prayers louder, more fiercely. 'The Sword of God'. Maybe. I say you're just a sword. Whose, though, I don't know. But God would have no part of it."

*

"I'm glad you've returned safely." Lagertha greeted him.

"I'll always return to you." Heahmund replied, forcing a smile.

She returned it, genuine and sweet. "Like Athelstan to Ragnar."

"Exactly."

He lost himself in her body that night. It was not that difficult. She was beautiful. Her entire body an intricate story of beauty and strength. Soft curves wrapped into skin that recounted the battles she'd won and lost. She made it easy for him, taking control from him, quieting his mind with her demands. They could become a mindless tangle of limbs on the sheets. The wrangle that may have looked like a fight nothing but a ruse, for he was not looking to win and she would never lose. He was not with her in that moment. He wasn't even in his own mind. He was deep down so very a mindless creature, when all he could really rely on were this one need and the call of his blade. All other civilised mannerism was nothing but a mask, to fool himself and everyone else. And it was so easy to shed it. So easy it scared him. It still scared him what he'd done in Sherborne. In his mind it was a wolf who'd come into the church and torn Cuthred to shreds. Animal eyes and a bloody muzzle. Something that had no place in a church, no place among people.

"Are you with me, priest?" Lagertha's voice ripped him from his thoughts.

"Always." He buried his face in the nape of her neck, licking sweat-slick skin. The other hunger he had. The taste more familiar to him than that of the host. A woman's body. That and fresh blood on his face. Blood and flesh. And still nothing close to communion.

Afterwards he got up, naked as he was knelt down and started praying. Lagertha regarded him pensively where she was still lying on the bed. "What is it with you, Heahmund?"

*

Heahmund had spent most of his life lying.

Do you resolve, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to discharge without fail the office of Priesthood, as a worthy fellow worker with the Order of Bishops in caring for the Lord's flock?

I do.

Do you repent your sins and swear to go and sin no more?

I do.

Can I trust you?

Yes, Ivar. I am the one.

Will you fight for me?

Yes, Lagertha.

And most of all, lying to himself.

*

"Heahmund." Plegmund looked up in surprise. "I had not expected to see you again so soon. I hear the Archbishop of York has returned safely. Good work."

Heahmund stopped in front of the bars of Plegmund's cell. "You certainly have access to a lot of information down here."

"Well, with a bit of delay as you saw not fit to tell me the other day. But I have my sources."

"You should not die." Heahmund stated gravely. "I will petition the king to spare you."

"Would you, now, Heahmund? I'd not have guessed you among my supporters."

"I was true to my vows, once upon a time. I meant them when I took them."

Plegmund regarded him calmly for a long moment. "I believe you."

"Let me confess."

Now there was surprise on Plegmund's face. "Alright."

Heahmund knelt down in front of the cell.

*

"Plegmund needs to die." Judith said. "More even than the others."

"Mother." Alfred explained tersely. "I had plans for this man. I admired him."

"And now you have to kill him."

*

The lords were led outside into the courtyard. Past Alfred, who sat there his face an unmoving mask, but his pose one of weariness more than anything. Past Judith, who stood regally, victory and scorn on her face as she met the eye of each single man who was led past her, a vibrant blue gem dangling from her ear as to further put emphasis on the other one missing. They were led past Aethelred too, who stood in full armor not in his bishop robes, the bruises from his time with the Vikings not yet vanished from his face.

It was Heahmund who awaited the men on the scaffold, to give a last communion, before one after another they were hanged.

Alfred got up and left the moment the sordid spectacle was over, his brother following suit.

Judith remained a while longer, regarding the bodies left out to be displayed.

The cells that had been filled for the past months were empty again but for one, where a solitary bishop was pondering the rise and fall of men who deemed themselves in power.

*

Lagertha was combing her hair when he came in.

"I was lost." she said. "I was lost and stumbling... unable to walk any more than Ivar does. Ever since Ragnar's death, I think. I had lost my direction, had lost myself. And you caught me. You were the staff on which I held myself upright." She looked up now, putting the comb away. "That's why I could not see it, I think. That's why I could not see that you never truly loved me." She smiled. "I could not see the hollowness of your words because I was hollow inside."

"Lagertha–" Heahmund started.

"It is alright, priest. That's what I'll call you, for that's what you are."

Maybe he should have said something to refute her words, to make her believe in him again and continue this charade. But he couldn't even bring himself to that. Just didn't care enough to even try. It was either way to him. To be honest, maybe he even felt relief.

"I think it was your facade that broke." Lagertha seemed to intercept his thoughts. 

Who'd have thought that she'd find back to herself, here in exile, when he'd met a shell of a woman, an angry brittle shell. 

"What destroyed you like this?" she now asked.

"The world."

*

There were people who truly believed in something. Who weren't detachedly observing opportunists. To his shock, Heahmund realised those people were Aethelred and Ivar, not him and Alfred. For all the times they'd been betrayed or hurt, Ivar and Aethelred still believed in something, in something good. Aethelred still believed in a benevolent God, still believed in his brother. Ivar who claimed to see only evil and was maybe the greatest evil of all, still believed in humanity enough to want to search for love, to want to give love. There was nothing good in Heahmund's world. There hadn't been for a long time. He may just as well have been one of those wry agnostics, like Ecbert, Alfred and Ragnar, who cooly regarded the world, and took from it what they needed, made the laws as they needed them, those of god, those of man. What else had Heahmund done?

*

"Ivar sure has some balls, attacking right after he lost Harald's support." Bjorn said, eating some candy that stood in a box on Alfred's desk, half-perched on the desk himself.

"Well," Alfred said succinctly, still signing documents. "He just got back about 300 warriors, who, whether they belonged to Harald before or him, are now loyal to him, as he was the one to secure their release."

*

The army was ready to march. Aethelred was just overseeing the final preparations. By nightfall they would be on the road.

"Son!"

Aethelred turned around, surprised.

Judith hurried towards him, grabbing his hand almost hesitantly.

She pressed something into his hand, soft and woolen. Tiny shoes.

"You wore those when you were only a few weeks old. Here, far from my family, you were the only good thing I had."

Aethelred's face moved through many emotions, most of all startlement. He almost tried to pull away.

"I regret that seemingly I never showed you." his mother spoke on. "No mother could stop loving her child. For, to me, you'll always be the same baby I held in my arms. No matter in how many battles you go."

"You did." Aethelred said, voice rough. "I had a good childhood, mother." He carefully pulled her head to his chest, kissing the top of it. "I love you."

A surprised hick-uppy sob tore out of her throat. Her arms wrapped around him. At first hesitant then all the more fiercely. "I love you too. My son. Aethelred."

He turned his face to the side, tears stinging his eyes. "I'll see you when I return from battle, mother."

 

Around the corner he ran into Bjorn. Aethelred wiped his face self-consciously.

"You seem to get along better." Bjorn said. "Come on." He threw an arm around his shoulder, but Aethelred hugged him close.

"Hey. Hey." Bjorn frowned, but still wrapped one arm around Aethelred's neck, regarding the other with a mixture of irritation and protectiveness.

*

Bjorn had a bad feeling, going into battle today. His mother had seemed strange when she'd kissed him on the forehead, before. More animate than she'd been in months. Almost happy. And when he should have been glad, he felt it was a bad omen, that something was going to happen. Maybe that was why he'd been more concerned with watching her than watching Aethelred. Not that Aethelred needed any watching. Except today he would have had. 

He was already on the ground when Bjorn arrived. It wasn't even clear who'd been his attacker, too crowded the battlefield. Bjorn blocked the axe of a shieldmaiden who was nothing but a blur of blond braids before the crowd swallowed her up a moment later. Already there were two other Viking warriors. He called out to some Saxon soldiers to aid him as he dragged Aethelred from the throng of bodies and metal. 

Where was Heahmund when you needed him?

*

In the midst of battle, surrounded by the still burning bodies hit by their missiles ealier, Heahmund found himself beside Lagertha. They both had killed today already, the fire of battle burning in their eyes just like the flames that were reflected in them. Their gazes locked on each other. Then Heahmund felt a sharp pain. He stared at Lagertha, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

"I was betrayed once before by a man I loved." Lagertha said. "I killed him." She kissed Heahmund. Then she pulled her sword out again.

He sunk to his knees, his hands sinking into blood-soaked dirt and gravel. Around him the fires still burned.

As he tried to keep himself upright, he thought again about that thing crawling inside him. Then he slumped forward.

*

Ivar hadn't seen the priest. Only in the beginning of the battle. Then he'd lost him, somewhere in the masses. He hadn't seen him again when the Saxons had retreated. He couldn't quite shake it from his mind now, looking at the battlefield where his men were searching the bodies to save those who belonged to them and deliver the deathblow to those who didn't. He turned to two of his warriors. "Look for the priest. Bring him to me."

*  
WINCHESTER

"We have suffered a terrible blow today." Alfred spoke before the people. "Not only was my brother gravely injured, but also Bishop Heahmund was lost to us on the battlefield of Marton."

*  
IVAR'S CAMP

When Heahmund opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was fire. Something was crawling towards him. Then the haze lifted from his eyes and he recognized where he was.

"Hello, Ivar."

"Look what the gods have brought me," Ivar said. "They must favor me indeed. Or they hate me. I'm not quite sure yet."

*  
WINCHESTER

Bjorn looked at Aethelred's prone unmoving form, the bloodsoaked cloth covering half his face, and he had to think of Thorunn. The only person he'd ever loved. He had never truly loved Torvi. He hadn't loved his second wife. How could he, he'd barely known her. Barely mourned her, too, if he was sincere. He'd mourned Halfdan more than he'd grieved over her. Now, thinking of Aethelred, he wondered had he loved Halfdan too? Maybe he had. Not much to be done about it now. All he could do now was not let Aethelred slip away.

*

"Mother. Bjorn said. "I'm sorry about the priest. I know what he meant to you."

"It's alright, my son. It was his time. And he died in battle. I loved him. I loved Kalf too. And Astrid. But no one like your father. He was the only one who's betrayal I could forgive."

"What do you mean?"

"I've had enough of men for a lifetime." Lagertha said. "Enough of women too. Enough of deceit in general." She looked close to tears when she turned to him, yet a harsh set to her jaw. "Don't let anyone break your heart, Bjorn. Don't let them. Don't let them get close enough to hurt you. Love your brothers if you must, but not too much. Love the dead, they can't hurt you anymore."

He just stared at her in confusion and worry.

"It's alright now, my son. In the end it is you and me." She stroked his cheek, then smiled to the sky. "And Ragnar. I wonder, do you wish to go to the Christian heaven with Aethelred, as well?"

"What– I... I haven't thought on it."

"Do you think your father is there with Athelstan?"

"Yes. Maybe."

"I'm almost certain he must be. I once told Heahmund I would like to go to his heaven with him. But now I think I just wanted to see Ragnar again."

*

"I do not wish to have you executed, bishop." Alfred started the conversation.

"You could not have me executed." Plegmund replied easily, from where he sat on the bunk in his cell. He looked rather distinguished for a man who'd spent the past months in a place like this. "Did you know that I had the blessings of the Pope for this?"

"I did not. It does not overly surprise me, though. I know how convincing you can be."

"What do you want?"

"I've read your scriptures," Alfred started.

"You read Latin?" the Archbishop asked surprised.

"I do. I agree, much was lost during the raids. But so much more could be gained, if we could find common ground. Lord Cuthred claimed I seek to reform the Church, to force secular power into the clerical realm. But I do not seek to reform, I seek to revive the church, to revive scholarship. I wish to translate all these important texts that more than just a handful of monks should know, into English, so they can be accessible, so people can understand them." Alfred pursed his lips, steeling himself. Then, one finger pointing to the window, "You and me, we fight not out there. We fight something else. Illiteracy. Poverty. Fear. We fight fear, for there's no greater power against fear than knowledge. There's no greater giver of hope than knowledge. To know the word of God. To know the words with which he told us his love."

"Some might not agree with you."

"I do not care about some. I care about whether you agree."

"I agree. Knowledge fights disease, fear and darkness. We have to believe that man is inherently good. So there can only be evil where there is not enough knowledge."

"Bishop Heahmund has fallen." Alfred went on. "And even with him I do not believe that he was a bad man. So can there not be peace between us?"

Plegmund's expression turned somber, stricken almost. "I'm praying for his soul. I thought him false and vile. I think, now, he was just misguided. But he did try to serve the church. He tried harder than most even bother to, so he had more potential to fail. I misjudged him. Maybe I misjudged you too." He paused, resolve settling on his face. "Let us see what we can achieve together." Then a wry half-smile took its place. "Or until we fail and have to recognize our endeavors for the vanity it was."

"Yes, or until then." Alfred agreed equally wry.

"You're going to trust me?"

Alfred nodded. "You were the only one who told me his animosity in the open. I believe you would not even lie to save your own life. Not because you are so pious." He smirked. "But because you're self-righteous and stubborn."

Plegmund laughed out loud at that. "Mea culpa."


	15. Magnus Rex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLYYYYY!!!!! :D It's Magnus time! *doingmchammerdance*
> 
> I still haven't gotten to answering all comments, but since all your comments to the last chapter nearly made me cry tears of joy, you're getting another chapter right now. ;) I love all of you! <3

I'm bigger than my body  
I'm colder than my home  
I'm meaner than my demons  
I'm bigger than my bones

And all the kids cry out: Please stop, you're scaring me  
I can't help this awful energy  
Godamn right, you should be scared of me

(Halsey - Control)

***

MERCIA

"It's too strongly manned. We should retreat." Harald said.

"I want that castle." Magnus met Harald's gaze, anger burning in his eyes. "It used to be my mother's castle."

"Then you shall have it."

*

Magnus walked around the battlements of the city they'd just taken. There was carnage in and outside the city, half the city walls destroyed. Yet there he stood, uncontained laughter bubbling up in his throat.

"Are you happy?" Harald asked, stepping beside him.

"How could I not be? It is a great victory."

*  
WESSEX

Alfred looked at the newly updated maps that showed which territories of Mercia had already fallen to Harald's army, or maybe it would have been more precise to say to Magnus.

A pawn could be promoted to a queen, rook, bishop or knight. Maybe it had been Alfred's fault not to see that this one would want to become a king. But then, Magnus had never been a game piece to him.

*  
IVAR'S CAMP

"Who took you down, priest? It's embarrassing." Ivar asked with the typical mocking lilt to his voice.

"Lagertha."

"Lagertha?" Ivar exclaimed. "What happened to all that love? Do not tell me she suddenly wisened up."

"It looks like she might have." Heahmund replied faintly amused.

"Say, priest." Ivar asked. "Did you miss me?" 

Heahmund only smiled. "Who knows, Ivar? Maybe I did."

Ivar smiled a quick mollified smile. Then he went on, his voice prying and as always a little mocking, "My brother, Magnus, is taking much ground in Mercia these days."

"I am well aware of that."

"I wonder, how will your King Alfred fare with you gone and Aethelred, as I hear, gravely injured?"

"I am not that important. They will manage."

"Ah, such modesty." Ivar chuckled. "How unlike you, priest. But maybe you're right." he said matter-of-factly. "Maybe you are not that important. Either way, I'm excited to see how my brothers and Alfred will fare against Magnus." He paused for barely a moment. "You know, Magnus taught me an important lesson."

"Not to trust anyone?" Heahmund asked wryly.

"Now, now, priest. Now, you're being too modest. You taught me that lesson." Under the mock reproachment there was as always a warning. "No," Ivar went on, once more in amicable mood. "Magnus taught me an entirely different one. You know, Heahmund. He told me that I had no reason to complain. That I had a happy childhood. Protected. With a mother who loved me. Put like that, I did not know what to reply. I'd always imagined me to be the most wretched of Ragnar's sons. Now I'm starting to think it were always Magnus and Hvitserk."

*  
WESSEX

The black sutures went in a straight line from his forehead to his jaw, the skin around them angry and red. His eye luckily was unharmed.

Bjorn tentatively traced then skin adjacent to the wound that nevertheless felt hot to the touch. "Does it hurt?" All the while reminded of Thorunn turning her head away.

Aethelred only shrugged. "You saved me." he then said. "Again."

"Of course I did."

Aethelred leaned forward and kissed him. 

"It was a woman who did this to me." he added, as he let himself fall back onto his bed, his voice tinged with amusement under the fatigue. "Your mother is going to laugh at me. I definitely should not have underestimated your women. I haven't for a while now. She was just better than me. She had a scar too."

*

"I'm going to meet with Ivar." Lagertha informed Alfred.

"Why?"

"Personal reasons."

The young king raised an eyebrow. "Reasons I'm not privy to?"

"I'm leaving my son and my grandchildren with you. I think that should be enough for you to trust me."

*  
IVAR'S CAMP

Ivar met Lagertha for the first time in ages. Gods, she looked old. But not half as unhappy as he'd have hoped.

"You killed my priest." Ivar began almost conversationally.

"I did you a favor." she replied, tight-lipped.

"Do you have regrets?" Ivar asked out of curiosity.

Lagertha shrugged. "Maybe only that I didn't see it any sooner. I feel foolish." she admitted ruefully. "As you must have, I'm sure."

Ivar grimaced at that, then shrugged. "I did not fall in love with him."

Lagertha gave a sharp laugh. "You didn't use to be a coward, Ivar. And a liar." She shrugged again. "He was easy to fall in love with. I guess we should both not overly blame ourselves."

Ivar smiled with disgust. "That is a relief."

"I think the real question is," she went on, expression sly. "Are you angry?"

"About what?"

"Me killing him."

"It's either way to me."

She shook her head, laughing. "No, you are angry." Then she turned earnest again. "I won't apologize for killing him. Because he deserved it, for breaking my heart. But, Ivar, I am sorry for killing your mother. It was petty and cowardly. I was angry at Ragnar." Another reminiscent, painful smile. "But him I loved too much. So I blamed her. I do not know what madness possessed me that day." Her expression was calm now, again, determined. "I'm not saying this in hopes to end this war. I know the two of us are going to fight each other until one of us is dead. I'm saying it because it's the truth."

*

"I'd have thought you would want to gloat." Heahmund commented from his sickbed, when Ivar returned to his side, after Lagertha had left.

"No," Ivar replied, running a hand over the bandage across Heahmund's chest. "You're my secret." He regarded Heahmund a while longer in deeply pensive scrutiny, then commented, "She seems to have a liking for taking people from me."

Heahmund chuckled weakly. "I never liked or disliked her in particular. But this I actually respect her for."

"You have a very strange sense of humor, priest. Maybe that's in my favor."

"And why's that?"

"I am," Ivar said, spreading his hands. "the very strange humor of the gods."

"Hm." Heahmund snorted softly.

"So you said you respect her for it. What do you respect me for?"

There was a slight fond smile on Heahmund's face. Secretive and private. "I can think of a few things, Ivar. But what's it matter? Respect means very little in this world. What is the thing that people will go against their own interests for?"

"Love."

"Exactly. God certainly doesn't respect us. But he loves us and that's what saved us."

"Ah, but, priest. Fear also makes people go against their own interest."

"No. It doesn't. It simply makes them readjust what their best interest is, given the circumstances."

"You are a brave man, talking to me about love." Ivar now said.

"And why's that?" Heahmund asked, calm and expectant.

"Well, it is said you should let sleeping dogs lie."

"I'm not afraid of you. Not of you or your emotions."

"Maybe you should be. You know what I'm going to do to Freydis."

"Could you hurt her? Really?"

"I want to hurt her." Ivar said menacingly, through clenched teeth.

"That's not what I asked. Could you?"

*  
WESSEX

"What if I want to settle down with him, mother? Huh? What then?" Bjorn suddenly uttered, belligerence mixed with petulance and maybe fear.

"What future could you have here with this Saxon prince?" Lagertha asked. "These Christians aren't like Athelstan. They're narrow-minded and caught in stiffling laws."

"Alfred isn't. Aethelred isn't. That's good enough for me."

"Love isn't always enough. It's fickle. You do not want to be left defenseless among enemies when it wanes."

Bjorn smiled. "With you and Ubbe close, I'll never be defenseless. Let me make my own mistakes, mother. Like I let you and father make yours."

Lagertha smiled ruefully, grudgingly proud of her son. "Fair enough. You realise, though, that your choice will never be accepted. Not here. Not in Norway either."

"I am the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. I can do whatever I want."

*

"It's fine." Bjorn said. "Don't worry about it."

Aethelred shook his head, irritated, arms crossed, where he sat in bed. The bandage across his face not hiding his anger. "We're losing Mercia, aren't we? Alfred will never tell me anything."

"No. We're not. Ubbe is there, right now, leading our army against Harald."

"Why aren't you?" Aethelred asked angrily.

"Why do you think?"

"Don't be foolish. You have a duty to Alfred."

"And look how many shits I give about that." Bjorn returned patiently.

*  
MERCIA

"What is it you dream of?" Harald asked pensively. "I see you stand there at night, staring into the darkness, and I cannot tell if whatever you see there scares you or if you're looking forward to it. What is it you're thinking of?"

Magnus didn't turn around, remained where he stood, leaning against a tent pole, his gaze still directed outside. "It's dark. What's there to see? There's nothing there. Nothing to fear, nothing to look forward to."

"Do you regret betraying Ivar?"

"He lived, didn't he? And it wasn't me who betrayed him, it was you."

Harald gave a disbelieving snort. "Very well." Harald took a step to stand beside Magnus. There he remained quietly, gazing into the night.

"What are you doing?" Magnus asked after a while.

"Trying to see what you see."

He did not turn to look, but there was a surprised intake of breath beside him.

*

"Their defenses are strong now." Harald said. "It will be a long siege. And little will be gained from it. It may be the capital of Mercia, but their troops and those of your brother Ubbe are closing in on us. While we stay here they'll take back what we gained before."

"Let me talk to them." Magnus simply replied.

*

Magnus stepped in front of the Mercian nobles.

"I am Magnus, son of Kwenthrith. I am the last of the royal line of Mercia. You do not have to fight in Alfred's name, in the name of the bastard the man who killed your last rightful ruler, put on the throne."

"Are you not also just a bastard?"

"I'm of the royal line of Mercia. Of who's line Alfred is, knows only God alone. Judith is a whore, everyone knows that."

"The same could be said about your mother."

"Could be said. Are you going to say it?" Magnus smiled, his gaze charged with danger. "Judith broke her marriage vows. My mother was an unmarried sovereign in her own right."

"And yet you both make deals with the heathens."

"Alfred has a handful of Vikings to help him from the onslaught of the others. I control half of those others. Stop fighting Alfred's war. How many months have your lands been ransacked by the Northmen? How many people have died? What did Alfred do to support you? Except to ask you to supply him with soldiers? Make me king and this war will be over."

They considered it, he could tell. "I assume you expect us to live with them afterwards?"

Magnus laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. We'll kill their leaders and soon their army will be strewn into the wind."

"No one wanted Kwenthrith's rule." another lord spoke up. "Why should we accept yours?"

"Well, Alfred's already given East Anglia to the heathens. What's to stop him from giving more of Mercia to them? He'll hardly give them pieces of Wessex, even you must see that."

"Kwenthrith's rule was chaotic and unreasonable. We don't need another mad ruler."

"No, certainly not. What you need is another strong ruler, who can keep off both the threat of the Vikings and of Wessex." Magnus smiled benignly. "Do I look mad to you, Lord Edwin? I barely remember my mother. My first memories are from Ecbert's court. I spent several years in a monastery."

"Yet you seek the crown."

"How can I not? When it is impossible to ignore the news of poor, brutalized Mercia. When Alfred seems either incapable or unwilling to do anything about it."

*

In the end it went as expected. Magnus smiled at all those old men who despised him but for now believed they despised Alfred more.

"See now, my lords." Magnus said. "Peace is not so hard to come by."

"I wonder," one of the lords said to another, when Magnus had left. "If he is not Ecbert's son rather than Ragnar Lothbrok's."

*

As the gates of the city were opened to the Viking army, Magnus thought of his mother and he thought of Ecbert.

~  
"Now, boys, you see." Ecbert said. "In this world, birthright is a rather fickle thing. There's a few questions a king needs to ask. What do I want? Who can help me get it? And who do I need to take it away from? Then the next question is: How do I make the former my friend and how do I make the latter his enemy? It is all about enemies in this world. Not friends. Friendships are fickle as well. It's necessity that brings people together and makes them forget prior squabbles."

"But Ragnar Lothbrok is your friend." Alfred spoke up.

"Yes. Yes." Ecbert smiled. "And yet I betrayed him and would do so again."

"But you love us." Alfred added insistently.

"Yes, of course. But you are family."

Magnus, himself a quiet timid thing, by then, no longer the headstrong toddler, remained silent and thought his part. While he still considered Aethelwulf, Alfred and Aethelred his family, he'd long started to be afraid of Ecbert.  
~

He recalled another memory. He'd been on duty after they'd removed Ecbert's body from the barrel. He'd stood there alone with his corpse.

~  
"Old man, old man, old man." Magnus chuckled, regarding the pasty, bloated body of the man who'd once struck fear into his heart. Truly Ecbert had gotten old. Nothing left of the imposing monarch who thought he owned the world. "Look who's here again." Magnus addressed the corpse gleefully. "After all these years."  
~

Yes. He was here again. And here he would stay.

*

Harald stood by and watched, as the bishop stepped forward and crowned Magnus as King of Mercia, while the choir sang songs of the Christian god. He watched as Magnus swore by the grace of the Christian god to serve his country well. It was not that only now Harald realised he'd been played for a fool. That realisation had been a long time coming. Only he had not wished for it to be true. Why had he gone along and given Magnus exactly what he wanted? Why had he let him take this throne? Why was it Magnus who now reigned over Mercia and not Harald? Because Magnus had wanted to. Because it had been his wish. Because Harald had promised him that he'd make his ambition come true, as well. Why had Magnus not told him? He'd have done this for him either way, not just by manipulation. Harald cared not for Mercia all that much. What was it compared to love? He remembered Ivar's words. 'Why do the most reasonable men act irrationally the second the word »king« is uttered?'  
Magnus and him were not that different. They both had the ambition to be king.

*

"What are you then, Magnus? English or Viking?" Harald asked that night.

"Oh, I am a demon, brought upon this world, just like Ivar. A changeling. Have you truly not noticed yet?" Magnus grinned and pulled Harald into his bed.

*

Harald dared not ask, yet he had to. He'd been a fool often, but never a coward. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do." Magnus replied easily. "You will be remembered when all of us are dust already."

"Just for that? Just for... my ambition?"

Magnus tilted his head. "What is it you love me for, if you love me at all?" He chuckled. It was a jaded sound.

"I do."

"Why? Because I love you? Because I sleep with you? Because you're lonely? Why do we ever think we love someone? To further our own vanity? I'd prefer loneliness as a reason. But what do I know? What love have I known in my life? With my mother ripped from me when I was a child. With a father who didn't care about me. With no family to speak of. You tell me about love." Magnus pushed Harald against the chest. "Tell me what it is supposed to feel like."

Harald looked at him at a loss for a moment, faced with that sudden anger in Magnus, that deep despairing darkness that he'd so far only caught glimpses of. "You... you just feel it."

"You can feel a lot of things." Magnus said with derision, grabbing for Harald's dick through his pants. 

Harald grabbed his hand, stopping him.

Magnus went on, voice vicious and cutting, "Would it make a difference to you whether or not I loved you back? If nothing was to change otherwise? Think about it, what benefit is to be gained from love?"

"You are Ivar's brother indeed. You are both without any warmth inside your hearts."

"What's my heart to do with any of that? That's not the warmth inside of me you're concerned with." Magnus said with a sneer.

"That is not true!" Harald grabbed Magnus' arm, harder than intended.

"Why would I even listen to you?" Magnus went on. "You know nothing about love anyway. You grieve after a woman who maybe loved you or maybe didn't, while you killed the only person who ever truly loved you."

Harald hit him then, hard. So hard it ripped Magnus off his feet, blood dripping from his mouth when he pulled his hand away, still sprawled on the floor.

"See," Magnus laughed, vindicated. "People do not like the truth. So what's the point of love? Why would you even ask anyone that? If you don't want to hear the answer." He spit out more blood.

Harald had knelt down beside him, one hand cupping his face. "I would have done anything for you." It was accusation as much as plea.

"Why?"

Harald snorted wearily. "Because of all the lies you told me, I guess. Do I really not know you at all? I guess only you can answer that question. All I know is that you know me, to my bones. But I'm not a complicated man. There's not much to know about me. Did you think I did not see the darkness inside you? The pain that's eating you up? I was lonely, I admit it. And an easy target. Even though, you were brave to attempt your game with me. Aren't you lonely too?"

"I'm not desperate enough to throw myself at other people's mercy and beg for scraps of their affection."

"No, clearly not. What do you want then? To be king?"

"What else?"

"And then what?"

"And then I'll have power."

Harald left Magnus alone then, still sprawled on the floor. He was weary and sick of this conversation. Could not bear to hear more of it for now. To have Magnus' poisoned fangs dig into him yet again. Oh, he had not minded the poison that had dripped steadily from his tongue almost from the beginning, even though it had scorched Harald's own skin at times. But now there was no relenting in it. No mercy.

*

"It seems." Harald said, looking at the second armring he was wearing. "I'm bound to repeat all my mistakes. Only this time you're not here to protect me, brother. Oh, I was always heavy-handed and unlucky when it came to love. Are you laughing at me, brother?" Harald stared at the star-filled night sky. "No, you wouldn't. You were always too lenient with my antics. I never did ask you what you wanted."

*  
WESSEX

"Mercia has turned from us." Alfred said, putting the letter down.

"What do you mean?" Judith asked.

"The lords of Mercia have recalled the troops they sent to us. They renounce fealty to me and have crowned Magnus king."

"What?!" Bjorn stared at him. "Can they just do that?"

"They can and they have." Aethelred stated grimly.

"Well, it could be worse." Alfred added. "On the Northumbrian side our territory is guarded by the warriors of the settlement from the border of East Anglia. And with Magnus on the throne of Mercia we have a Christian barrier from that side. If he respects our borders that is."

*

"Brother, you can't just give up your claim on Mercia!" Aethelred exclaimed. He had mostly recovered, although his face was still bandaged and he tired quickly. That did not stop him from angrily chastising his brother now.

"Why not? This claim solely rests on our grandfather taking it by force. By right, Magnus' claim on the throne is far stronger than mine. And frankly, I do not feel like continuing a war I don't have to. If the nobles let themselves be convinced to give the crown to Magnus, they'd be willing to do the same for every single lord who has the nerve to walk up and ask them for it. I know Magnus. I'd rather have him on the throne than anyone I don't know. And the longer we wait, the higher the chances of his alliance with Harald breaking apart. We can take the Mercian army, but I'd rather not fight a Viking army on top of it."

Aethelred shook his head. "This is all true, but–"

"Magnus understood what Ecbert knew. You don't take Mercia by force. You take it by negotiation. If you ask me, he deserves it."

"Our grandfather worked hard to secure us the Mercian throne."

"You mean he killed a lot of people for it. Among them Magnus' mother."

"Magnus betrayed us."

"Yes. As kings must. Grandfather taught us that lesson first."

"Maybe to you and Magnus." Aethelred said with disgust. "My father taught me honor and loyalty."

"Yes. And yet our father wasn't perfect either. And neither am I, or you, or Magnus."

"Why do you care so much about him?" Aethelred asked in angry puzzlement.

"You cared about him too."

"Before he betrayed us."

"There is a debt to be payed, from us to him. There's guilt on our family, from his blood. And a king may have to lie and betray and kill, to stay king. But Magnus was family."

"So you'll let him do to Mercia what he wants?"

"Brother. We know Magnus. Trust him. Trust that we still know what kind of person he is."

"He has changed."

"We all are constantly changing, adapting. But we adapt with what we already are. And while we might get harder on the outside or change form, we remain who we were from the start. Remember when we were children and Magnus said our friendship meant there would be peace between us and the Northmen, because he was a son of Ragnar Lothbrok and we were his brothers and there would never be war between us."

*

"How can he do this to me?!" Aethelred exclaimed angrily, storming into Bjorn's room.

Bjorn sighed. "Don't get so agitated." He put his hands on Aethelred's shoulders, steering him to the bed. "Lie down. Rest."

"You sound like my mother."

"She is a smart woman." Bjorn agreed.

"He's giving him Mercia!" Aethelred again stated incredulously.

"Uh-huh." Bjorn pushed Aethelred down on the bed, pulling the duvet over him.

"Of course you don't care, it's not your country." Aethelred now muttered grimly, maybe just to provoke a reaction.

Bjorn raised his eyebrows and spoke, still very calm. "Maybe I just learned better than to agonize over decisions I don't understand. I learned it with Ragnar, it's not much different with Alfred. Or are you, after everything you did to keep him on this throne, honestly going to tell me Alfred isn't suited for kingship?"

Aethelred scowled. "No."

"Good. Then rest."

"It's the middle of the day."

"That's why I said rest and not sleep." Bjorn smirked.

*  
MERCIA

"What would you have done? What was you plan? Would you have poisoned me at night? Or kept me around as your puppet?" Harald asked.

"Kill you?" Magnus laughed. "Are you mad? Then I'd be just another king. Why would I let go of the advantage of a Viking army?"

"I should kill you." Harald pressed out.

"Then do it." Magnus hissed, baring his teeth. "Kill me like you killed your brother. Bury me like you buried your wife and unborn child. Or just leave me for the crows." He smirked.

"I'm not going to kill you." Harald schooled his features. "Maybe we can both make use of the other. I could use some settlements in England. From where I can prepare my attack on Kattegat."

"That sounds wise."

*

They met, the heads of opposing armies. A tent was errected on neutral ground. Just the two of them.

"Alfred," Magnus greeted. "You should thank me. After all, I played Ivar and Harald against each other. Surely you should want me on the throne of Mercia rather than a Viking."

"You betrayed me." was the first thing Alfred said, despite having made Magnus' case to his brother, because yes, it stung.

"What, did you think I would live at your court like a beggar? Slave to your charity? The charity of your family ran out once before."

"I thought of you as a brother."

"And look how little good that has done your actual brother." Magnus said with grim satisfaction. "We are wolves, all of us children of kings and queens. We eat each other, just so we survive. Us and the Northmen alike. My mother knew it, Ecbert knew it. You know it too, because it was Ecbert who taught you. So, do not speak to me of loyalty and love. Just don't."

Alfred fell silent.

"Have you come for war, today?" Magnus asked.

"Not yet." Alfred shook his head. "Not today. But it seems I have to secure my border against you now. Tread carefully, Magnus."

"Oh, don't worry." Magnus replied, smirking slily. "I know you well enough, Alfred. I know you aren't as weak as you make yourself out to be, for however much you might preach peace. You would crush me in an instant, if I set foot into Wessex."

~  
The two twelve-year-old boys looked up at Ecbert.

"Now, my young lords." Ecbert chuckled. "How do you suppose we solve this conundrum?"

Alfred, small and pale-faced, once more just recovered from another illness, spoke up, his eyes calculating and so very un-childlike. "We do not honor the treaty."

Magnus stared at him flabbergasted. "But we gave our word! We swore an oath before God!" His gaze went over to Ecbert, expecting him to chastize Alfred and inform him of his error.

"Very good, Alfred!" Ecbert beamed at his grandson. "Exactly! And what do we do then? Magnus?" His eyes zoomed in on his ward.

Magnus stared up, caught in the scrutiny. His face had lost its look of disbelief, had settled down into an indifferent mask. The meaning of the newly learned information already processed, laying another brushstroke on the picture of the world Magnus painted in his head, leaving him a little more resigned, a little more jaded. Not that he'd notice that, for years. "We make another treaty." Magnus replied without hesitation.  
~


	16. Before the world goes headlong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter as well as certain references in the chapter are from the translation of Ragnarok in the Edda as found on Wikipedia. I have no idea how good those translations are, so sorry for any mistakes.

With your big heart you praise God above  
But how's that working out for you, honey?  
Do you feel loved?

(Florence & the machine - Patricia)

***

IVAR'S CAMP

"You knew about Magnus, didn't you?" Ivar said. "All this time. Did he whisper secrets to you while you were at my camp?"

"You figured it out, then?" Heahmund asked.

"Harald isn't smart enough for that move in York. What I'd like to know, now, is if he betrayed just me or Alfred too. He did pass secrets on to you, didn't he? I did wonder. Not enough, obviously, because you lost so pathetically in the beginning. To be honest, though, my money had been on Hvitserk. I thought he was talking to Ubbe again. I believed Magnus' hate for the English."

"Yes." Heahmund replied without any trace of remorse or fear. "Alfred informed me of Magnus' true identity and the ploy, after he'd left for your camp."

"You don't have a god of lies and deceit and yet you Christians all lie so effortlessly." Ivar looked at Heahmund pensively, oddly unguarded, that unexpected bitterness in his eyes. It would have made him seem vulnerable if Heahmund hadn't been feeling so vulnerable himself right now. Injured and prisoner of Ivar, once again. Only this time not as strangers but confidants, which only seemed to make it so much more dangerous. "I can not imagine how you could serve a god that preaches love, when you toy with hearts so easily. I think I feel almost sorry for Lagertha. Pain commiserates."

"You were the one who wanted to believe in me. I only told you you would deprive yourself of the pleasure of having been right, I never said I'd prove you wrong."

"And I told you I didn't want to be right."

"We can not always have what we want."

"Oh, I know. You've certainly mastered me in that discipline. Maybe that's why I felt a connection to you. Because I saw the raw, scratching itch of acrimony under your skin."

"I've spoken of my fears so often to you, Ivar, you will no longer surprise me by a display of your intricate knowledge of my inner workings. We know each other, for better or worse. If nothing else, that is true."

"For better or worse." Ivar agreed darkly.

"You talk of acrimony to me, and I see you here, resentfully sitting at the shore, like a bitter taste that won't leave your mouth. Why do you stay? What imagined slight do you wish to punish your brothers for? Is your pride such a bloated and brittle thing that you cannot accept losing for once? I've lost many battles in my life, at your hands not to mention."

"I won the last battle," Ivar pointed out petulantly. Then went on, "You beg me for your country with such an elaborate scheme. But what's the point? I see through it. You said it yourself, we know each other. Make no mistake, priest." He sat down on Heahmund's cot, leaning close over him, one hand on the headboard. "I do not care that my brothers abandoned me. I do not even care for your England, though I admit I like Alfred, and even found some spirit in his brother who's managed to secure Bjorn's questionable attentions. I'm still here for one reason and one reason alone."

"Lagertha."

Ivar nodded pleasantly. "Lagertha," he agreed.

"Where's it to end?"

"What?" Ivar looked confused.

"Where's it to end, Ivar? 'Brothers will fight and kill each other. No man will have mercy on another.' Do you wish to be Fenris? And slay Odin only to be killed by his son? Do you wish to kill Bjorn next?"

"You've learned the Edda well, priest." Ivar deflected. "And Lagertha would surely be flattered to be compared to the allfather."

"Can you not forgive, for your brothers' sake?" Heahmund asked, regarding Ivar in questioning scrutiny.

"How can you ask that?"

"You do not hate your brothers. And you don't want them to hate you either. What peace can there be with Lagertha's death? The next one you'll have to kill is Bjorn."

"You want to beg for Lagertha's life?" Ivar asked incredulously and maybe even hurt in a way, betrayed. "The woman who tried to kill you?!"

"I don't care for Lagertha." Heahmund replied dismissively, impatient to have to repeat himself once more. "I'm telling you to stop."

"What for?"

"Did you not say yourself how greatly Sigurd's death weighed on your soul. I do not believe that your other brothers' impending deaths wouldn't weigh even harder."

"Lagertha needs to die. You cannot save her."

"I'm trying to save your soul!" Heahmund exclaimed in exasperation.

"Do I have a soul?" Ivar asked with a wistful sort of curiosity.

"We all do."

"And why should mine be worth saving, when you're so adamant, that you're not on my side?"

"Because mine can't be saved any longer."

"That's not really an answer." Ivar replied with a hard sort of humor to his words. "Look around, Gunnhild over there also has a soul, I'm sure she'd appreciate saving."

"Ivar..."

"No, no. No easy ways out for you anymore, priest."

"I cannot watch you condemn yourself."

"And whyever not?"

"Because I understand you. Because you are not alien to me. You are not more terrifying to me than I am to myself."

Ivar tilted his head, eyes wide in something like awe. "And how terrifying is that?"

Heahmund grimaced a small smile. "More terrifying than anything else in this world."

*

"You already lost another brother in this war." Heahmund brought up the same topic again.

"Do not speak of Hvitserk to me." Ivar admonished sharply.

"Why not? After all, it was us three for a while then, in Kattegat."

"I did not care for Hvitserk, you didn't either."

"Oh, but you did care for him. Or you wouldn't get so angry now."

"Are you going to tell me, too, that his death is on my conscience?" Ivar asked with something between anger and fear.

"Who said that to you?" Heahmund asked perturbed.

Ivar laughed harshly. "Magnus. You see, us sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, we cannot stand to be around each other for too long. We need to share the world between us. When we're all in the same place for too long, catastrophe strikes. Well it most often strikes too if we're on our own. I'm sure Harald will be able to tell that tale, soon enough."

"So you believe Magnus to be your brother?" Heahmund asked astounded.

"I do." Ivar replied with a shrug.

Heahmund nodded. "It's interesting how Magnus managed to claim brothers both on the English and the Viking side. He certainly learned well from Ecbert. When he, as a man, should be perceived as the greater threat, it was always Kwenthrith who people saw as that. He didn't repeat his mother's mistake. He made himself small and unassuming. And so he survived. It takes strength to appear weak. For all the time I've known him he fooled me too. I thought him loyal to Alfred. But then, I've seen Alfred lie to people with a face of innocence, and have done so the same. Kwenthrith never knew how to seem innocent."

"Did you know her?"

An odd expression came over Heahmund's face. A wry chuckle. "Oh, I knew her. When I was still a young monk. How did she use to say? She's never met a man of God who doesn't like to fuck like an animal. And she was right."

"Isn't it more natural?" Ivar asked.

Heahmund's eyes went wide with surprise. "She said that too."

*

Ivar found Heahmund hunched in on himself, praying fiercely, desperately, whether the pain in his voice came from his injury or his disposition, he was not sure.

"Are you satisfied?" Ivar asked, interrupting the other, who looked actually startled. "Did your religion give you everything you could need? Was his," he pointed to the ceiling. "love enough for you? Were your people worth the devotion you bestowed upon them?"

"Lagertha tried to kill me. King Alfred never showed me anything but loyalty." Heahmund replied with something rare like petulance or however close the priest could get to any such emotion.

"Oh yes, great King Alfred." Ivar chuckled. "Yes, I remember our conversations in York. You were feeling very at home at court, very welcome."

"If I had a choice I'd do it all over again." Heahmund returned defiantly.

"Yes," Ivar nodded with a lenient smile, head tilted. "But I'm not giving you a choice again."

"What will you do with me, then, Ivar? Exchange me?"

"Do you truly believe that?"

"Then what?"

"Why, priest, I'm going to take you back to Kattegat."

"You're going back to Kattegat?" Heahmund asked perplexed.

"Why so surprised?" Ivar smirked. "You were nagging about it all the time, weren't you? So, rejoice."

*  
MERCIA

"Ivar is packing up." Harald said. "I fear he's planning to retaliate. We should meet up with him."

*  
IVAR'S CAMP

"Why, no, Harald." Ivar smiled. "I do not seek revenge. I simply plan to return to Kattegat. To lick my wounds." he added with a sarcastic smirk.

"Not to attack my lands there?"

"What would I want with your lands, Harald? Steal your whale skeleton?" Ivar raised an eyebrow.

"Then there seems nothing left to be said between us." Harald stated stiffly.

"I wish to speak to my brother before I leave." Ivar added, when Harald turned to go.

*

Ivar followed Harald to the place where his men had set up camp, outside of Ivar's campside. He noticed the flags of Mercia that had been put up, and the English soldiers. Harald led him to a large tent and then left. 

Ivar entered. Magnus sat there in a chair, a crown on his head.

"King of Mercia." Ivar clapped his hands. "Impressive."

Magnus regarded him, remaining seated. "It looks like my fate finally revealed itself." He did not look smug or, gods behold, remorseful. If Ivar had to put a word to it, he would have said the other looked guarded. But then, Magnus probably always had been. Even when he'd convinced all of them that he was halfway out of his mind. And didn't Ivar know only too well about that.

"I think in your case I'd be willing to concede that fate had nothing to do with it. Unless yours is the hand of fate." Ivar stated agreeably.

"I can agree with that." Magnus said with a slight smile.

"You betrayed me." Ivar added conversationally.

"What do you mean?" Magnus asked, expression betraying nothing.

"Leaving me behind in York. Harald wouldn't have done that on his own. He's not imaginative enough for that."

"Well, so I did."

Ivar smiled. "I'm impressed. I'm looking forward to matching wits with you again, some time, when I won't underestimate you."

"I feel like you were the only one who didn't do that." Was there a glimpse of something real there in Magnus' steel eyes? Ivar really couldn't say. Wondered about all the times they'd talked. Ivar knew well that you didn't need lies to deceive someone, sometimes the truth worked just the same.

"Ah," Ivar wiggled his finger. "But I did not see your full potential either."

"You seem happy, Ivar. Why is that?"

"Do I?" Ivar shrugged.

*

As Harald and Magnus had broken up camp and were getting ready to return to Mercia, Ivar saw them off.

Magnus suddenly noticed Bishop Heahmund on Ivar's campside. "I heard he'd died."

"Don't believe everything you hear." Ivar replied, an amused sparkle in his eyes that were straying over to Heahmund again almost by default.

"So it seems you took something out of this campaign after all." Magnus commented. "I didn't think you strove after such simple goals. I thought you were more like me."

Ivar smiled leniently. "There's nothing simple about that. And you're just lying to yourself when you claim you don't want it too."

*

Ivar had waited until Heahmund's wound had closed, until he'd mostly recovered, before he broke up camp. Heahmund had not expected such consideration. He knew not what awaited him now, when he once more sat foot onto a Viking ship. Not in chains this time, but a prisoner nonetheless.

"Come on, priest." Ivar said, patting Heahmund on the shoulder where the other had stopped halfway up the plank. "We're going home."

Heahmund watched as Ivar slowly but steadily trod his way up the plank onto the ship, then he threw a last look back at the shore, and followed.

*  
WESSEX

"Ivar has left." Alfred said.

"What do you mean?" Bjorn asked.

"My scouts have informed me that he's taken his ships and presumably sailed back to Kattegat."

"That's... odd."

"Who's holding Ivar's strongholds in Northumbria?" Lagertha asked.

"Gunnhild, the wife of the late Earl Olafsonn. A great shieldmaiden."

"Let's talk to her then."

*  
NORTHUMBRIA

"Hello Bjorn." she greeted him and there was a very private smile on her face, an intimate smile.

It took Bjorn a few moments of disbelief. "Thorunn?"

"I haven't been that girl for many years." Gunnhild replied. "She died somewhere in the mountains. I'd like to think I've matured since then. Probably you have too."

"What– Why?! What are you doing here?!"

"Ruling our strongholds here, in Ivar's name. I've been voted the new earl after my husband's death."

"You married again."

"So have you, I assume. He was a good husband. Yet I'm not sure I'm truly made out for marriage. Or motherhood. Fighting suits me better."

"Why did you leave?" Bjorns asked, feeling like a boy again.

"I was not happy. In fact, I was so unhappy I do not think I would have wanted to go on living for much longer." She spoke very matter-of-factly, like it was all an old story that didn't concern her any longer. Like the only concern she showed at all was for Bjorn's sake. "I did not like to hurt you, even though I did. You were a good husband, too. Yet I fear I'm not made out to be a good wife. It saddened me to hear of Aslaug's death."

"And our child's death?!" Bjorn asked with more bitterness than he knew he still felt.

"It was not my care she died under." Thorunn said coldly. "Nor am I going to pretend I overly cared for our child. I could not, back then. I could barely love myself. But you've not come here to talk about past times."

"Is Ivar planning to attack again?"

"Not so far. He's no longer interested in gaining more ground in England."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Who knows with Ivar."

Something else clicked. "Was it you attacking Aethelred?"

"The Saxon prince who's leading the army? Ah, yes, I fought him. What's it to you?"

"More than you can imagine." Bjorn replied harshly.

Her features softened. "Oh. I see how it is. Did he live?"

"Yes."

"Good." She nodded. "He's a great warrior."

*

"I just met my ex-wife." Bjorn said, slightly shellshocked, when he returned to the camp of the Saxon soldiers who'd accompanied him, to the tent he and Aethelred shared.

"Torvi?" Aethelred asked confused.

"Thorunn." The name itself was spoken with still lingering marvel. "Who's also the one who defeated you." he added with a slight smirk, tinged with nostalgia. "She always wanted to be like Lagertha. I guess now she is." His eyes came to rest on Aethelred's scar, a scar similar to the one he'd seen only so shortly ago on Thorunn after not having seen it for years. How could any of them deem himself close to the gods, son of Ragnar or not, when life worked in so very strange ways and all they could do was see where it took them.

"How do you feel about that?" Aethelred now asked, brows narrowed in a pensive frown.

"Glad." Bjorn replied bemused. "Does that make sense? I'm still angry she left. I'm angry our daughter is dead. I'm angry at her and at me. But I'm glad. I'm glad she's happy. I'm glad she's alive."

"Do you still love her?" Aethelred looked at him, from that face were the right side was separated in the middle by the still fresh scar that went from forehead to jaw, sparing out the eye. Not at all like Thorunn's, Bjorn thought now. No, nothing alike at all.

Bjorn leaned in close. "I love you now. And you know that well."

Aethelred laughed. "I do."

"My mother said this here is impossible and I should give up on it."

"What did you tell her?"

Bjorn smirked. "I told her I am a son of Ragnar Lothbrok and can do whatever I want." 

*

They lay together in Aethelred's tent, at night. Aethelred pillowed against Bjorn's chest, between his legs. Quiet but for the crackle of the fire and the sound of their breaths. Faintly the voices of the other men filtered in from outside.

"Why'd you come?" Bjorn asked quietly, still his hand continued its wavelike pattern across Aethelred's arm. "Where you afraid I'd take leadership over Ivar's remaining army, then make a deal with Harald and return to Kattegat to fight Ivar?" He chuckled.

"Maybe." Aethelred turned his head so he could catch a glimpse of Bjorn's face.

"You needn't have worried." Bjorn felt calm, content. There was something lulling and peaceful about just sitting here, together. Things seemed to make sense now. More sense than anything had in a long time. Seeing Thorunn. And then here was Aethelred. He could let go. He could finally let go. Of the boy who'd married too young. Of the boy who'd watched his father go to another women's bed. Of Kattegat maybe even.

Yes, maybe not close to the gods. Maybe just mortals, all of them. But what was the harm in that? Didn't the gods deal with all the same troubles and pains and heartaches as each and everyone of them down here did? Being a son of Ragnar Lothbrok was good enough. The son of a man. An exceptional man. A man who he'd loved, not for what he'd achieved but for being his father. That's what it came down to, in the end. They could have been as happy on that farm as anywhere else. Bjorn wouldn't try to live up to his father's name. He'd leave that to his brothers. But he'd try to be happy. Live life to its fullest, as Halfdan had said. Bjorn had a feeling he had a pretty good chance at happiness, now.

*  
WESSEX

"Brother, can you forgive me?" Alfred asked.

"For what?" Aethelred asked, puzzled.

"I know you do not agree with how I handled things with Mercia." Alfred stated contritely. "I've made many decisions that went against your wishes. I feel like I've failed Ecbert's dream of England. But more so than that, I feel like I've failed you."

Aethelred shook his head. "You have not failed me." He furrowed his brows in exasperation. "You're my little brother. I'm proud of you. You are right. I am angry about Mercia. But I trust you. I trust you because I know most of your decisions turn out for the best, for all of us. And even if you made a mistake I would not love you any less."

Alfred's voice was husky and full of emotion when he spoke again, "That means a lot to me, although I'm not sure how well it speaks of me as a king." He smiled lopsidedly. "I've lost Mercia, when Ecbert's dream was to rule over all of England. But our settlement in East Anglia is successful. So I stand here, not knowing whether I'm a success or a failure as a king. My enemies at court are dead, thanks to you. Archbishop Plegmund and I have come to an understanding. And maybe I can make peace with Magnus too. I want to."

Aethelred looked at him. "You have a lot more years of being a king in front of you, little brother. No need for a verdict just yet. And if you want to make peace with Magnus, by all means, as always, you can try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole thing about Thorunn always bugged me... Her going into the mountains and never showing up again. And honestly I thought Gunnhild and Thorunn looked very much alike. So alike, in fact, at first I thought it was supposed to be her.
> 
> Some might think the whole Ivar situation was a bit anticlimactic, but its the beginning of his story and not the end. And honestly I could not face killing Lagertha... And I honestly believe Ivar loves his brothers despite that he doesn't show it. And I think Hvitserk's death was a huge blow for him, especially because he blames himself for it. So I think at this point, Ivar really doesn't feel like losing any more brothers and considers that he can come back to kill Lagertha at any given time. And, I mean, it is a given fact that if Ivar kills Lagertha Bjorn would come after him. And I think of all of his brothers Ivar actually cares the most about Bjorn (that's at least how I portray it).
> 
> Next chapter we're going to Kattegat!!! Yay! Who's excited? I know I am! :D


	17. Agape

I know you wanna go to heaven, but you're human tonight  
There's a light in the crack that's seperating your thighs  
And if you wanna go to heaven, you should fuck me tonight  
You know the two of us are just young gods  
And we'll fly through the streets with the people underneath

(Halsey - Young gods)

***

KATTEGAT

Heahmund looked around Kattegat. "Ivar, what happened here?"

"I told you I'm a god now." Ivar mockingly made the sign of the cross.

*

Looking at Kattegat as it was now, Heahmund was reminded of the story of the golden calf. Sardonically he considered: But what use was that story to people who didn't believe in God? Was it truly of matter whether they prayed to Odin or Ivar as long as they didn't pray to God?

He realised something else too. He wasn't the only one who'd lost his way. Ivar had been something strange and powerful to Heahmund, when he'd first met him. Something strangely hopeful in the most contrary way, as Heahmund had seen an impossibly powerful future for him.

Now Ivar seemed as jaded as Heahmund felt. And Heahmund, moving through the streets of Kattegat, he felt not half the shock or alienation he'd felt the first time around.

*

They'd only just arrived at Kattegat when a wholly new problem became apparent.

"Where's my son?" Ivar happily exclaimed, making his way to his rooms. "I want to see my Baldur!"

Heahmund followed. He wasn't chained up this time around, not really a prisoner. But where would he go? As he entered Ivar's private rooms after him, he for the first time saw the woman Ivar had married. Not a dangerous power-hungry seductress, just a girl.

Ivar took the child from her, elation on his features. Only for a moment, then his smile froze. For a short moment, while Ivar's attention was solely on the child, Heahmund saw fear on Freydis' features.

"This is impossible." Ivar choked out, staring at the infant. The infant with the same mangled, useless legs as his own. His rigid gaze was glued to the child a moment longer, then turned to Freydis. "What kind of witch are you?"

"What do you mean, Ivar?" she asked perplexed. "He is your son."

"He isn't, you dumb bitch!" The child he was still cradling in his arms started crying. Ivar stared at it helplessly. Freydis looked conflicted but dared not approach. Ivar hesitantly stroked two fingers over the child's brow, a look of downright fear on his face.

"I'd reckon he's hungry." Heahmund commented casually from where he was standing.

Dumbfounded Ivar handed the child to Freydis, stared at her, then at Heahmund.

"God indeed works in mysterious ways." Heahmund only said.

*

"It's not possible." Ivar told Heahmund in a soft voice, later when Ivar had left Freydis and the child alone again, and taken him to, what Heahmund now realised must have once been Queen Aslaug's rooms.

"And yet it is."

"I never laid with her. Not in that way."

"I know."

"Then...?"

"There are so many things we do not understand. Just accept the gift God has given you."

"Gift?! People will only see my weakness when they look at my child!"

"Yes. And no one will ever doubt that he is your natural son."

Shock, disbelief and realisation washed over Ivar's features alternatingly. Then, "I fear I will not be able to love him."

"You already do. You've only just got to know him and all I've seen you do is care for him. This child will not grow up worrying about being a cripple. Just like Bjorn, Ubbe and Hvitserk, he will worry about how to ever live up to his father's legacy."

*

"Celebrate with me." Ivar told the people gathered ourside. "My son is born. And the gods have marked him to show their favor. In this child all our future lies. Your savior and king has been born to you."

Heahmund watched the sacrifices done in Baldur's honor. How the people fearfully worshipped Ivar as a god. He watched it all with worry and unease. Worry not just for himself, but for the Ivar he'd come to know.

*

"Hello, little Baldur." Ivar said, sitting down beside the cradle. The child looked up at him with clear blue eyes. "Your father has come to talk to you. I have waited a long time for you, did you know that? You are loved and protected. Know that. You will grow up to be strong and fierce. I would have liked to spare you this fate. But it wasn't in my power. But you are wanted. Me and your mother wanted you so badly. And everything that is in my power I will do for you."

He held one finger inside the crib. And suddenly a tiny fist closed around it.

"You have a strong grip, my son." Ivar said, his voice suddenly choked up. "You will have to. Your hands will have to carry you all your life."

In the background, Heahmund who'd come in a while ago, smiled to himself, turned around and left again.

*

"Harald is going to come back to take Kattegat." Heahmund said.

Ivar shrugged. "Eventually." A little smirk. "If Magnus doesn't kill him first."

"You have a harsh opinion of other people."

"The only thing you can truly trust in, is alliances falling apart."

*

Ivar was not happy at Kattegat. Not like he'd been the first time around. Heahmund could see that. He was king now. But the air in the city was stiffled with fear and tension. And Ivar himself, loud and boisterous and omnipresent, seemed the most ill at ease of all. Harrassed almost.

*

"You are too good for something like this." Heahmund looked around.

"I'm good?" Ivar asked.

"What do you need this make-believe, these cheap tricks for? Why would you cover up your true achievements with this badly enacted theater?"

Ivar looked at him in surprise, not saying anything for a moment. "Maybe it is them, I'm doing it for, not me. They need a reminder, constantly."

"Of your greatness?" Heahmund snorted.

"How else are they supposed to remember, when there are dozens of other kings who claim my kingdom? Men who can actually fight in battle."

"They can fight. But can they win?"

A pained smile spread across Ivar's face. "I knew I needed you back."

*

"We spent only such a short time together. And you spent such a long time with Lagertha. Why do I still feel so close to you?" Ivar asked.

He ran a hand over the large scar across Heahmund's stomach, from Lagertha's sword. The other didn't move, remained sitting where he'd just washed himself, merely the muscles under his skin flexed at the touch.

"Do you feel close to me too?" Ivar asked.

Heahmund cocked his head. "In some ways closer than to anyone I've ever known."

*

The winter, each year unfailingly, brought not only the first snow but also the well-meant reminder that Ivar would never be normal. That he could only fool himself for so long. The ground was too slippery for him to walk on his braces. He did not fancy slipping in front of everyone. So he could only crawl again, his hands freezing, his clothes soaked-through with sludge in no time. Which meant he stayed inside unless he had to go out.

It reminded him this year, more than anything, that this was the fate that awaited his child in the future.

*

"Will you stand godfather to my son?"

"What?" Heahmund regarded Ivar dubiously, like he must have misunderstood something.

"There's this concept in your Christian church, is it not? If something happens to me. If I lose favor with the people. If I die in battle. If I simply fall sick. Will you take my child to England and make sure he's safe somewhere in one of your monasteries?"

"You would want your child there?" Heahmund asked, voice laced with incredulity.

"I want him to be save."

"You trust me enough for that?"

"I do not believe you would let an innocent child die. Christen him, if you must. But make sure he lives."

"You are right." Heahmund nodded. "And I accept. You have my word, however much good that is to you."

Ivar met his eyes, earnest and indecipherable. "It is good enough for me."

*

"I forgive you, Freydis. For betraying me. For lying to me. For trying to manipulate me. You are forgiven." Ivar laughed. "Go and sin no more."

She looked at him bewildered and frightened.

"You will remain my wife. The holy family." He turned his palms up in mock-reverence. "Isn't that right, Heahmund?" Ivar looked over to where the other man, as always, was sitting not too far away.

"Leave me alone with your blasphemy, Ivar." Heahmund replied unimpressed. "But, yes, that child needs his mother."

"That's right." Ivar turned back to Freydis. "Do you know why I forgive you? Why you're allowed to live? Because you looked upon that child and you loved it. You loved it like my mother loved me. And Baldur does not deserve to be robbed of just one person who loves him."

*

"It was a good decision." Heahmund said later. "I knew you still had feelings for her."

"Are you dumb?" Ivar asked. "I want you. I only truly realised it through being with Freydis. All this time I wanted you. In that carnal way your god so despises."

Heahmund frowned at him. "What am I to make of that, Ivar?"

Ivar shrugged. "You should feel flattered."

Heahmund frowned even harder.

"Am I shocking you, priest? Most assumed my father was fucking his priest." He pursed his lips. "Who knows? Did you ever wonder why I said I had not lain with Freydis, priest? I can't fuck anyone. My dick's as useless as my legs. Boneless." Ivar laughed hollowly. "So this is a strictly theoretical conversation. For I certainly wouldn't let you fuck me."

"You've changed." Heahmund said.

"That's what you glean from my story, priest?" Ivar raised an eyebrow. 

"You are a lot surer in your skin. It's hard to miss."

"You have changed, too, Heahmund. You seem almost jaded to me. Is there nothing I can shock you with any longer?"

"I have just come to terms with the inevitability of my soul being damned to hell. Of what business are your sins to me when mine are so much graver?" Heahmund replied dismissively.

Ivar stared at him intently.

"What is it now, Ivar?" Heahmund asked with irritation.

"I'm trying to figure out whether you don't care that I'm not even a real man or whether you just didn't understand. You did realise the implication of my words, right?" He paused, going from exasperated incredulity to amused fondness. "I wonder what it would be like to be like you. Able to have whoever I wanted."

"Actually, being like you would have saved me a lot of trouble in my profession." Heahmund stated succinctly.

Ivar laughed. "You really do not care, do you?"

Heahmund sighed. "Ivar. Another man's prowess in bed is of very little importance to me."

"So, you've never..." Ivar's lower lip twitched in a barely held back grin. "considered it? In the long, lonely nights in the field? You do not have female warriors in your armies. And you did jump Lagertha like a starving man." How he could have gone from one of the most awful conversations of his life to joking around...

"I was manipulating her." Heahmund said affronted. "I am well able to control my urges."

"Oh, so it's a conscious decision every single time, to break your vows?"

"It's..." Heahmund's brows drew together. Ivar had never actually managed to get the priest off kilter like that.

"Yes?" Ivar smiled indulgently.

"I don't have to answer your highly inqisitive questions."

"So there were other warriors?" Ivar asked salaciously. "In those lonely nights far away from home. What did you do? Did you fuck them? Did they fuck you?"

"No... nothing like that."

"Ah, priest. You used to be sharper. Don't let me push you into a corner like that."

*

Afterwards Heahmund wondered if the whole purpose of Ivar's confession had been to lead up to that question. As in battle, Ivar never bared a piece of himself, showed a weakness, unless he was to gain something from it. And Heahmund had walked right into the trap. Or the latter had been a deflection as Heahmund had seen before, in the few times Ivar had bared a piece of himself and then regretted it. With Ivar you could never be sure. The truth was a ploy just like his lies. The real point, though, was that Heahmund had spoken the truth.

*

Ivar was good-natured about his revelation. Too easy-going in a way that was deflection again.

"How would you say, priest? With me it's just agape."

"Agape is something a little different." Heahmund corrected vaguely amused. And truly, Ivar was the only one who could elicit this particular blend of emotions in him, something that wasn't an act. Irritated, amused, challenged, understood. Save, as insane as it sounded. Not just save, but free.

"Do you know why I told you?" Ivar asked. "Because you're the only one I can trust with that."

That sincere admission took Heahmund by surprise. No deflection, then. The raw, painful kind of truth they tended to bestow on only each other. And as always, Heahmund felt compelled to respond with the truth in turn. "But, Ivar. You can't trust me."

Ivar made a dismissive gesture. "Not that. You're the only one who respects me. That's why I can tell you. Freydis and you both lied to me. But with you, there was truth in your lie."

"Why is it you put so much ill-fitted trust in me and so little in her?"

"The moon is fickle in her affections." Ivar stated with a low-key menacing form of ruefulness. "I am not. Regrettably. My love is a persistant thing. Like a bleeding deer you run from me, but I follow the trail like a wolf."

"Your love seems a rather onesided affair, then, Ivar." Heahmund stated drily. "Gruesome too."

"Oh yes." Ivar agreed wholeheartedly. "What about your love, priest, shallow and poisonous? Have you ever loved anyone, Heahmund? And I'm not talking about agape. Have you? What would you even know what it feels like? Love is messy and ugly and painful."

"It shouldn't be." Heahmund said softly, solemnly, regretfully.

"Is that what your god preaches? Agape maybe is. But love seldomnly is. There's nothing godly about love. The love to my father was full of pain, dismissal and insecurity. The love to my brothers poisoned by envy. And even the love to my mother was an abrasive thing, for we were both spiteful and weak people. It's easy to lash out against people you know will forgive you. Only my love to Floki was always easy. And it too ended in pain when I learned I was not enough. That the love to dead people was stronger than that to me, and I could not ease his grief. He wanted to be with his wife, with my father, with his child. Not with me."

"You are right." Heahmund conceded now. "I have not known love such as that. There was not much love in my family. There was duty. There was duty, too, once I'd joined the priesthood. And thereafter I struggled with the more carnal aspects of love, as opposed to the ideal it was supposed to be. Desire, not love. Agape is nice and good, but for me, again, it was mostly duty, and vanity. I did not love the people in my congregation. I did not love the women I bedded. I loved an ideal of myself. An image of what I was supposed to be. The only true love I've known is that to God. And you are right, it is a painful thing, full of doubt and self-hate."

"Yes. Yes." Ivar agreed, glowing with something like greed. "So you do know. Then you cannot deny the connection between us. I wasn't so sure until I'd returned to England. But now I know for certain it wasn't all lies you spoke to me. You are not unaffected by me, priest. Just as I am not by you."

"Ivar, there's a big step between respect and maybe admiration, and love."

"Yes. Absolutely. I'm not asking for your love, priest."

"Like hell you aren't." Heahmund exclaimed uncharacteristically blunt.

Ivar laughed. "Yeah, well, not yet at least. There's a time for everything, isn't that how one of your prayers goes?" He took a step towards Heahmund, face in a triumphant smirk. "There will be a time when you are going to be devoted to me."

"Devotion is something for gods, Ivar." Heahmund said with a faint smile.

"Yes. Yes, it is. That's the only form of love you know, isn't it? Worship."

"And what will I have in return, Ivar?" Heahmund asked curiously amused.

"Oh." Ivar fanned out his hands. "My devotion, of course." He chuckled. "I think I understand the concept of love better than you do, if you have to ask."

Heahmund laughed. "You are a troublesome man, Ivar. But it's hard to argue with you."

"But fun too."

"Yes. Yes, that as well."

*

"What is it you wish to do now, priest?"

"I thought you weren't going to give me a choice any longer?"

"I'm not. Still I wish to know."

"I do not know, Ivar." Heahmund shook his head. "I wish to return to England."

"I think you're lying." Ivar paused, then stepped closer. Regarded him with cunning, narrowed eyes. His voice was calculating as he spoke, like he was just describing what he saw when he looked at Heahmund. "You do not deserve your bishop title. And you know it. You don't deserve your honors in England. You are weak and full of sin. And England doesn't want you. It abhors your sinfull ways."

Heahmund stared at him for a long moment. Disbelief. Indignation. Shock. Helplessness. Shame. The carefully constructed mask of his expression wavered, for a moment that was both exhilerating and terrifying to Ivar. Then, as an aborted sound tore from his throat, the priest turned around and strode for the door, all but fleeing.

Ivar stared after him.

"You might be pushing him too far, too fast." a voice said.

"I did not ask you for your opinion, Freydis."

"Still he and I are the only ones who will give it to you. So I see it my duty to speak up."

"It isn't." Ivar hissed, only to follow up, after a moment, "What do you think, then?"

"You took his whole world. You can't become it, just by wanting to."

"What would you advice me then? Your approach? Lying to him and telling him what he wants to hear?" He gave his voice a mocking tone. "See, Heahmund, your god wants you here. He wants the most pious of his priests to convert us heathens. Let me build you a church."

"It wasn't all lies." Freydis said steadfastly, defiantly. "I am not disgusted by you. Nor afraid. But I was a slave, Ivar. You cannot fathom what that means. How could I not grasp this chance for power? You never wanted to feel helpless again. Well, neither did I."

*

For a while Ivar feared Freydis had been right. But when he saw the priest again things were as always. And their dance, around each other, continued. A dance indeed, for there was no apparent direction and they often ended up where they'd started.

*

"What are we going to do?" Ivar asked. "Are we just going to talk about it forever?"

Heahmund laughed. A little shocked, a little impressed by Ivar's brashness. He smiled then wryly. "Whatever you imagine, it's not going to happen, Ivar."

Ivar shrugged, lips pursed contemplatively. "I've learned most things I want happen sooner or later."

Heahmund raised an eyebrow. "Is that right? Is that a decision you think you can make for me?"

"Oh no." Ivar leaned closer. "You misunderstand me. There would be no point to it, if it was my decision."

"Agreed. Yet, Ivar, what's the point of this?" Heahmund smiled, patiently, amused, not derisive. "As you said, with you there's only agape."

Ivar laughed quick and startled, surprised himself that he was not feeling fury and mortification, that the priest could say these things to him and suddenly, as all things between them, there was only playful banter, no shame. He leaned in now, face a grin with too many teeth. "Oh, priest, I'd think of a few things to do to you."

Heahmund regarded Ivar, head tilted, expression dark and knowing. "Oh, I'm sure you would."

*

Sometimes Ivar made him forget it, but it was impossible to forget for long, and once more Heahmund looked with bewildered horror at the state of the city, trying to fathom what had led to this in his absence.

When he went back inside, he found Ivar idly sitting by himself. Except Ivar was never idle. Heahmund pulled out a chair opposite of him.

"What happened here, Ivar? Why did you do all that?"

"Maybe I like to see how far I can push them, like I'm doing with you right now." To emphasise his point Ivar stretched out a finger, pressing it against Heahmund's chest.

"What for? What do you have to prove?"

"Everything."

"Is that really how you feel?"

"What about you, priest? What is it you think you have to prove? You're piousness? We both know you're not. Why don't you let me touch you? What's supposed to happen?"

Heahmund leaned back in his chair, legs spread. "What is it you want to touch, then, Ivar?" he challenged.

Ivar was caught off guard, as he assumed had been Heahmund's intention. But he was not so easily cowed. "Strip for me, priest. I want to look at something whole. Something right."

The priest got up. But not to leave. Unhurriedly and unabashed he took his clothes off. Eyes meeting Ivar's whenever the latter took them off the alarmingly increasing stretches of exposed skin. Each time Heahmund's eyes were there to meet his, challenging in their impassiveness.

"Why do you think your god made something so perfect and something so broken?" Ivar asked, once the priest stood there in all of his glory. "Does he have a sense of irony to throw all your gifts just away? Or is it your people who have it wrong?"

Heahmund looked at him for a long moment. Then, "I never thought on it. But I should hope that the Lord has a sense of humor. Otherwise, I fear, his mortal children could only bring him to tears."

"Step closer." Ivar said. "I want to touch you." He smiled at the other. "What harm is there in it?" He grabbed Heahmund's hand and brought it to where his cock as always lay soft in his breeches.

Heahmund stepped closer until his legs touched Ivar's, and let him let his hands roam without apparent direction or purpose.

"Why do you indulge me, priest?" Ivar asked. "Nothing to gain from manipulation any longer."

"Maybe I'm trying to understand what exactly it is you want. And how else would I know?"

"I think I'm easily understood in this." Ivar said amused.

"I think there's never anything easy about you."

*

"Have you found a better answer to my question yet?" Ivar asked interestedly, like a coiled snake bathing in the sun.

"Which would be what?" Heahmund replied.

"Why you go so easily along with my whims?" Ivar commented indulgently.

"Maybe it amuses me."

"Does it? Isn't it just a continuation of the last time? There you tried to seduce me."

Heahmund contemplated that. "In a sense, yes."

"And you were successful too." Ivar concluded jovially. "So reap what you've sowed." He fluttered his hands open, like a magician.

Heahmund snorted. "I've never met anyone as uncouth and insolent about these things."

"Why, because I say what I mean? Because I show you that tearing someone's heart out is a bloody affair?"

"I think Lagertha already did that." Heahmund said with a small smirk.

"You better watch your tongue." Ivar admonished more amused than angry. Lagertha was far away, the priest was here, his for all effects and purposes, even though he did not know it yet. Instead of worrying about the wrath of his god, Heahmund should have worried about the persitance of a patient man. And Ivar could be very patient.

"Who can't face the truth now, Ivar?"

"You play this game with me, Heahmund, and it makes me doubt you're as unaffected as you claim."

"Maybe it's another manipulation. Maybe I'm just a bad person."

"I don't know about that, priest. But you're good enough for me."

"Yes, I am, aren't I?" Heahmund said, suddenly pensive.


	18. A gullible man I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of the resolution of Magnus' story that was too long to put it into one chapter. ;) I post it at the same time as the Kattegat chapter because it's pretty much happening at the same time.

And if love is real  
Maybe I'm just too bad   
To remember how good it feels

(Skylar Grey - Wreak Havoc)

***

MERCIA

"Maybe I did want the crown not so much as I wanted to piss a dead man off." Magnus stated pensively. "Alfred told me that in his last days, Ecbert too lost his faith in all the things he'd done, like Ragnar. I hope I won't be so pathetic before my end. What good does doubt do anyone?"

An unsteady truce had been found between them. No longer lovers, yet Magnus would still confide his strange opinions to him, unasked. And Harald did not know whether it gave him hope or he should tell him to stop.

*

"You've come yourself." Magnus said a little flustered.

"I want peace, Magnus." Alfred said. "Can we not make peace?"

"I told Bjorn I wanted peace. Sure we can." Magnus shrugged.

"Can you let go of your resentment?"

"Resentment?" Magnus raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think it is? I bear you no ill will at all, Alfred. Why would I? I'm simply undoing a past wrong. But my 'resentment' is solely directed against Ecbert. It says in the bible we should forgive each other for our wrongs. But whom did Ecbert ever forgive? He forgave no one. He didn't believe. Much more he fashioned himself a Roman emperor. Or maybe Odysseus, the great scheming trickster king, the ever-sly manipulator. Your father didn't choose Ecbert, because he could see that Ecbert wasn't good. Maybe Ragnar was... I don't know. It was hard to tell, the one time I saw him. Maybe you saw more than I did that day. I remember how Ecbert would go on and on about Athelstan and Ragnar. It was hard to tell who he loved more. Have you ever wondered if he only ever bedded your mother because it was truly Athelstan he wanted to fuck?" Magnus laughed at the look of discomfort and scandalization on Alfred's face. "I have. Ecbert fucked both our mothers. So did Aethelwulf. Isn't that funny? I wonder, what was it that fascinated Ecbert so about Ragnar and Athelstan? Ragnar I can understand. He saw himself. A like mind among nothing but fools. But Athelstan? What made Athelstan special, other than his ability to survive? I am more like him than you are, in that, Alfred. What did you ever have to survive, other than your own feeble body? Could you survive among the Northmen, Alfred? I doubt it. But I did."

"Maybe you'd be surprised. My father, after all, did. Is this a game of 'Who's the greater king?' you want to play here?" Alfred asked. "I don't plan to be like Ecbert. You, though, seem to aspire to that. I planned to betray people I now consider family. And it does not sit right with me. Neither Ragnar nor Ecbert ever kept their word. I'd like to think I will from now on."

"That's just not a realistic aspiration for a king." Magnus stated dismissively. "We will always have to derive our success from the defeat of others."

"I'd rather have alliances than war."

"Yes, for as long as it lasts. Do you think Ivar will stay in Kattegat indefinitely?"

"No. Hardly." Alfred conceded.

"There's no fighting Ivar other than by intrigue." Magnus said.

"Yes. You showed that only too clearly. And I... Wessex owes you a debt for that."

"You don't owe me anything. Neither do I you."

"Not even an explanation?"

"Bjorn gave you one."

"We're here. Don't you think you could say it to my face?" Alfred asked.

"You will not humble me with emotions that mean nothing to me." Magnus said harshly. "And I'm not keeping Mercia by your grace, but because I'm strong enough."

"One day we might need each other again. It would be good if we could be friends that day."

"Are you afraid of Ivar?" Magnus scoffed.

"No."

"Why do you think Ivar returned to Kattegat? Really to lick his wounds?"

"To garner new troops. To secure his kingdom. Maybe he wanted to see his child." Alfred shrugged.

"Do you really think that child exists?"

"Heahmund seemed to think so."

"Heahmund." Magnus laughed. "You know he's still alive?"

"What?"

"Ivar took him back with him. So maybe he did get what he came for, after all."

"What do you mean?"

"You know Ivar is madly in love with the good bishop. It's hardly a secret."

"And you, Magnus? Do you love Harald?"

"You know me, Alfred, I find it hard to feel anything but contempt for most people."

Alfred sighed.

"By the way, who had the glorious idea to make Aethelred bishop?" Magnus went on. "I laughed for days. No, let me guess: Judith. I'm surprised Aethelred isn't here today. To protect you from my insanity." He chuckled. "I'm sure he wants my head."

"He does. But I'm not here to argue with you. I do not dispute your claim." Alfred said, seeing surprise bloom on Magnus' face for the second time today. "You can keep what you have of Mercia. I will accept you as an equal sovereign. And when Ivar attacks again, or some other Northmen, we'll repel them together."

"Why?"

"An united England was Ecbert's dream. It isn't necessarily mine. I have different dreams."

Magnus still regarded him like he was trying to make him out, but then replied, "Very well."

They shook hands.

Before Alfred left he spoke again, "I never wanted you to feel like you were living of my charity."

*

"You do care about him." Harald stated, arms crossed, once Alfred had left.

Magnus pursed his lips in disgust. "Maybe I do. I owed him, I repaid him. Lagertha and that pathetic bunch of Vikings she brought could not have brought him his victory. And he'd be living in the swamps again now, or dead in a barrel of wine like Ecbert. I repaid Alfred. I don't owe him my allegiance."

"No. You clearly don't owe anyone allegiance. Kwenthrith seems not to have been lying about your ancestry, you remind me of Ivar more and more. You're both so bitter." Harald laughed. "You're more unhappy than even me. At least I know who I am."

"I know who I am."

"The king of Mercia? Who is the king of Mercia?"

*

The evening had went pleasantly enough. Magnus had sat smilingly on his throne, all through it, receiving salutations from all the nobles who acknowledged him as their new sovereign.

The speaker of the Lords Council walked up to him, at the middle of the evening.

"You said you were going to kill the heathens once you had your throne." the grey-haired, tall man stated.

"Yes." Magnus nodded. "I did. You know, Ecbert once killed the entire Lords Council. I do wonder how you managed to build up another one so quickly."

"Is that supposed to be a threat? You need us. We put you on this throne."

"You did." Magnus smiled. "And that wasn't a threat, that was just something I genuinely wondered about. You see, you should not threaten people. It warns them. Or in case you never planned to go through with it, it's just pathetic." He lifted his hand, and all around, his soldiers, who not so long ago hadn't been his soldiers, stepped forward and cut the council lords' throats.

The speaker was grabbed last, bleeding out right in front of where Magnus had resumed eating.

*

"Why'd you do that?" Harald asked after dinner, when they were alone.

"I always wondered why did Ecbert teach me together with Alfred. No explanation made sense. Whether I am Ragnar's son or not. I think to him I was a curiosity. He didn't teach me so I could use the knowledge later. He just wanted to find out what tricks he could teach me. Like a dog." Magnus paused. "I will never forget his words. 'Stupid kings die'. It might seem like I'm rash and unreasonable at times. But I never am. I always think before I act."

"I realise that now, too." Harald agreed. "I'm wistful, I think. For the things we could have accomplished together, if you could have allowed us to work together."

"But we still can." Magnus shrugged. "You are still here, after all."

Harald nodded, sighing. "Yes, I am." He shook his head, meeting Magnus' eyes, again, unapologetically. "I know you look down on me and think me a fool." he said. "Because I love. Because I seek happiness. I might be a fool for a lot of reasons, but not for love. And despite that you broke my heart I still do not wish you any ill."

"More the fool you."

"More the fool I." Harald agreed pensively. "Maybe. Yes. Fools are always happier than ambitious men. And my ambition has never brought me much happiness. Maybe you'll fare better. I fear not."

"Do not concern yourself with my fate, Harald. And should I find a fate as the great Roman emperor Caesar, at least my name will become immortal."

"You wish to become a god? Like Ivar?"

"No god. No. Just a king."

*

"Do you think of Ivar?" Harald asked.

Magnus turned his head in surprise. "Now, why would I do that?"

Harald smiled wryly. "I could think of a few reasons."

"I'm not scared of Ivar."

"I didn't say you were."

"Do you worry? That he'll attack your kingdom?"

"Possibly." Harald shrugged. "I'll take it back."

"What do your men think of you staying here?"

"They're your men now, don't you think?" Harald said wryly. "They're quite content with what you're paying them out of the funds of the lords you killed."

"And you? Are you content? What would you like? A duchy? More ships? To go raiding in Frankia?"

"Sure." Harald nodded. "All of that."

"Are you angry with me?" Magnus asked suddenly, assessingly.

"I'm not worried. The men will follow me back to Norway. Sitting idly on their asses won't entertain them forever."

"I won't stop you."

"No?"

"I don't need you forever. Just for now."

*

"Don't you mind?" Magnus picked up their last conversation about the shift of power in their relationship, if you still wanted to call it that.

"A smart man once told me there are more important things than crowns." Harald said.

"I think Ivar was talking about revenge." Magnus gave to consider wryly.

"And he's learned better by now, I'd think. Sometimes... it is easier to forgive." Harald stated pensively.

*

"What did you imagine, then? In that happy future that you'd imagined for us?" Magnus asked, without forewarning angry all of a sudden, looking for a fight. "That I'd be your bitch?" He scoffed. "Your queen?" 

Not that Harald wasn't getting quite attuned to his mood swings. He realised though this one might be born from desperation, from fear.

"Is it enjoyable to always expect the worst of people?" he asked now. "Do you find happiness in your world?"

"Don't try to manipulate me." Magnus shot back. "You're not smart enough for that."

Harald ignored the insult. "Imagine just for a second," He snorted ruefully. "just for the game of it, imagine a world where I respect you, where I truly love you, and you could let yourself feel save for a moment, knowing there's someone who has your back."

Magnus had blanched gradually at Harald's words. He swallowed now. "I did. For a moment."

"I sometimes like to imagine a world where you're just too afraid to admit you return my feelings." Harald now added.

"Do that. If it gives you comfort."

Harald snorted. It wasn't bitter, not completely. There was a certain underlying fondness in it. "It's fitting you should be king here. You're like Mercia."

"Ah, that's sweet."

*

"It puzzles me," Harald said. "how you can hate to such a degree and not love with the same intensity." It seemed he was bound to join into Magnus' habit of doling out unasked insights into his mind. But what else was he to do? He'd either win this battle with words or not at all. They'd never been his strongest weapon, much less when it came to matters of the heart. But while, unlike his axe, they might not break through the ribs and strike the heart, he might at least hit something.

"How about you?" Magnus returned. "You always talk about love. Yet you seem to hate no one truly. And yet you kill meaninglessly. Why did you kill that woman's husband, if you did not hate her? You claim you loved her. You killed Halfdan, yet him you loved too." Magnus sneered. "Truly, your love is a more terrible thing than my hatred. At least I do not strike those closest to me."

"You have no one close to you."

*

Magnus sat in his royal rooms, his hand clenched around his crown. The crown which wasn't his mother's crown, because that one had been stolen by Ecbert and was now worn by Alfred. No, this one right here, was just a piece of metal. And still Magnus had gone through a lot of troubles to attain this piece of metal. And he thought of his mother murdering the only member of her family she'd ever loved, for a similar piece of metal. He thought of Aethelwulf saving them back then. He thought of a father he'd never really known. Of brothers he had come to know, but hadn't done much better by them than his mother by her own. He thought about how there had been no regret or hesitation when he'd killed Hvitserk. How it had been a stranger he'd slain that day. No different than any man he'd killed before. He thought that most things he knew about his mother were stories told by others. He thought of Harald painting his face in his colors. He thought of the strange calm that had come over Ivar the last time he'd seen him. Thought of Ivar's words too. Of course Magnus had sought love once upon a time. That wish had left him the day he'd been sent away from court by the man who'd once saved his life. Harald had been right, he wasn't Mercian or Viking. He was nothing. A drifter. A conman. A leech. He looked at people only as food or danger. He'd learned that pattern well, at fourteen. When to run, when to make himself small and pathetic to elicit pity and charity, when to take from someone weaker. It was the most important lesson he'd ever learned. Much more so than any scheme Ecbert had taught him.

But he'd managed to regain his throne. Something no one would have expected. Least of all Ecbert that greedy bastard, and Ecbert's kingdom too was falling apart. Had Ragnar seen his death coming in that snake pit? Or Aella? Or Aethelwulf?

Maybe he could have been happy at Alfred's court. Maybe they could have been brothers. Maybe him and Bjorn too. If he could have trusted them enough to try. The only one of his brothers he'd spoken something like the truth to, was Ivar. And between them there certainly hadn't been trust. Maybe that's why they'd gotten along. No trust given on either side, so there had been no fear of betrayal.

And Harald, Harald hadn't been part of his equation at all. Harald had been a wager. How that man would so steadfastly cling to his love. Clung to seeing something other than lies and betrayal in what had been between them.

Magnus hadn't realised he'd started crying. Didn't even know what for. What was there to cry for? A mother he'd barely known? Being raised by her murderer or being thrown out by the man who'd saved him, which had been worse? Did he cry out of fear that Ivar might have been right? Or out of grief that he'd known all along and thrown it all away? He trusted no one and no one trusted him. That's how it had always been.

He put on his crown and stepped in front of the mirror. A gangly young man with a crown and a tear-streaked face.

Magnus scoffed in disgust, turning away, and wiped his face aggressively.

He thought and thought and thought. And eventually conceded that he had to come to terms with the fact that he'd loved Aethelwulf like a father. Not Ragnar. That Aethelwulf had raised him. And abandoned him. That both were equally true facts. And that he had not spoken to him once more. Even though he'd been at Winchester, even though he'd been in the royal villa the day Aethelwulf had died.

Magnus swallowed hard, his throat hurting. He considered the regretful nature of his affection and decided to put it behind him.

He met Harald in the hallway.

"What's wrong?" the Viking asked.

"What business is it of yours?"

"Have you been crying?" Still there was this odd caring tone in Harald's voice that he seemed unable or unwilling to let go of.

Magnus sneered. "Maybe I did. It wasn't the first or the last time."

"What made you so sad?"

"Regret. I'm not as dumb as you, but I'm not as smart as I'd like, either. And forgiveness is hard to give. Especially if you're not asked for it. But death shows us how little pride matters, does it not?"

"It does."

*

He'd struck something, it seemed, Harald thought after their surprise meeting. Only the wrong thing. Why would you strike a heart in the first place, other than to injure? That's why Magnus protected his as he did. Because he'd learned, as any boy who'd finally pull up his shield after having been hit once too often. And his reflexes were good. He never showed a weakness. So did you smash the shield or wait for the other to lower it? Harald thought Halfdan would have known.

*

"A Danish army has arrived on our shore." Magnus informed Harald.

"What are you planning to do?"

"Talk to them. For starters."

*

"Who are you?" the Danish king asked.

"I'm the king of Mercia." Magnus said. "Son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Attack Northumberland or Wessex, if it pleases you, but you should respect my territory or you'll rue it."

"A son of Ragnar Lothbrok? What is your name?"

"Magnus."

"There is no son of Ragnar with that name."

Magnus smiled clippedly. "There is. You'll learn."

"How about you fight me, then?"

Magnus snorted. "You're two heads taller than me, I have no intention of fighting you."

"I will fight for you." Harald said.

"Not necessary." Magnus stated. "There will be no duell."

"You do not understand the implications of your refusal." Harald hissed into his ear, under his breath.

"Oh, I understand them well." Magnus replied, still coldly measuring the Danish king. "I merely refuse to comply."

"They will never respect you if you deny this." Harald warned harshly.

"That is where you misunderstand my aspirations. I do not care to be accepted as a Viking. I'm an English king. We're In England. I make the rules."

"For your pride?"

"What use is being king if I don't do whatever I want?"

*

"That was a dumb thing to do." Harald said, as they returned to the city.

"I don't have to explain myself to you." Magnus retorted coldly. "Anyways, don't tell me you're not looking forward to a fight."

*

"You stayed not because you wanted a stronghold here but because you still hold out hope for me." Magnus said as he stared at the approaching Danish army.

Harald shrugged with a wry smile. "My hair has barely started to grow out again."

*

Harald woke up in a tent, his side hurting. He looked around but he was alone. He got up, under great effort, limping to the door. There he found one of his warriors.

"What happened?"

"You got hit."

By what Harald couldn't recall, only had a vague memory of fire and then nothing. "What of the battle?"

"Magnus took command. We won."

"Where is he?"

The other shrugged.

So Harald waited. Going to search for him in his state was futile.

Hours later Magnus did make an appearance.

"I heard you were awake." Magnus stated aloofly.

"Congratulations."

"Yeah, well." Magnus shrugged.

Harald noted a bandage on Magnus' hand. "You're injured."

Magnus eyed the hand dismissively. "Hardly."

*

Magnus did a blood-eagle on the captured Danish king. The Mercian soldiers who attended, were horrified. The Vikings, well... they furthermore only referred to Magnus as Ragnar's son in Mercia.

Magnus'd said he didn't care. But he danced a dangerous tightrope act between being a Christian king and a Viking. He combined two worlds that could not be combined, holding them together by sheer tenacity. It worked well for him, for now. He'd gained from each party what he needed to rule them. Respect from the Vikings, fear from the Mercians.

Still Harald remembered Magnus stomping his foot on a frozen lake, and couldn't make up his mind whether he was one of the most shrewd and daring kings he'd ever known, or whether it was all just a game to him. He thought on Ragnar transporting ships over the mountains. He remembered Ragnar losing in Frankia. Blessed by the gods. He'd always thought that. He started to think, now, that maybe it was a burden. Those whom the gods noticed, lived an unstable life. Better to remain far from their sight. Maybe Magnus had done right by hiding from them in the land of the Christian god.

*

Weeks later when the bandage had come off and Harald had recovered, he would see burn-scars on Magnus' hand that matched those on his own side. And Harald thought, if it was a game, he did not know the rules. Maybe Magnus didn't either.


	19. A gullible man II

I started a joke   
Which started the whole world crying  
But I didn't see   
That the joke was on me

(ConfidentialMX - I started a joke)

***

"What's going on?" Harald asked, stepping beside Magnus' throne.

"The lords are presenting me their daughters for marriage." Magnus laughed derisively.

"Are you going to pick one of them?"

"I'm not going to marry." Magnus told Harald, still derision in his voice but also bitterness, the taste of a fruit that wasn't ripe yet and still already rotten. "I don't care to leave a legacy. Let them kill each other over this throne, once I'm gone. What am I supposed to pass on to my children? Insanity?"

"An unmarried king is a weak one. His reign is always endangered."

"Maybe I don't want easy. Easy makes you complacent. Look at Ecbert. What was he thinking, sending Ragnar to his death. The years of misery he brought to his family. For what? He could have sent Ragnar back, denying he'd ever been there. He could have kept Ragnar at court, he might have even liked that. Aella had an interest in Ragnar's death, Ecbert didn't. I don't understand it. Maybe it was Ragnarok they were both looking for, in the end." Magnus added wistfully. "Complete annihilation. It's certainly what they caused."

"What is it you seek?"

"Free will. Self-determination. For all we claim to have it, my life's always been decided by others. Now that I'm king, I'll be damned if I let them put me in shackles of convention." Magnus smirked. "I'll probably be damned either way. But I'll be held accountable by no one. No man. No god."

*

"What purpose is then, to your life?" Harald asked, a couple of days later.

"Why do you want a wife, a child, Harald? What's with this urge to procreate? A legacy." Magnus scoffed. "What good was legacy to Ecbert in his barrel? What good was his big name and all his victories, when he died abandoned. How cruel to put that pressure on a child. There's no legacy to be left. We're here while we're here. We won't become immortal, no matter how hard we try. There's now, and maybe, if we're lucky we'll burn for our sins. Or there's just nothing. We're not gods. We're just animals." 

"Is there no heaven in your world?" Harald asked, wondering why Magnus was striving for power if none of it mattered if you died abandoned. Why it was power, then, he sought after so hungrily and not love.

"Show me one man good enough to go to heaven." Magnus said with a voice too weary for its attempt of wryness.

"There's no such expectation in my world. All the allfather asks of you is to be a warrior."

Magnus smiled wistfully. "Ah, but you can't choose what you believe. When I was a small child, when my mother was still alive, the world was beautiful. There was chaos. And all gods might have existed or none at all. And among them my mother was the most powerful. But she died." Magnus shrugged regretfully, wryly. "And I was raised with Jesus and with hell. Ecbert did not believe. But him I hated and feared more than anyone else. I'll give you, though, a world where gods are volatile and indifferent makes a lot more sense. What comfort you can find in it, though, I do not see. Maybe there's comfort it not being captain of your own destiny, in not being responsible for your own mistakes."

"There isn't." Harald replied roughly. "Your mistakes are still your own. You once explained that to me quite unmistakably." He chuckled ruefully.

"Do you think Astrid loved you?" Magnus asked all of a sudden. "She married you to be queen. You knew that."

"That was her intention. I think she came to love me, though."

"And you? Did you just decide to love her? Without knowing her. Because she was beautiful? Because you wanted a wife?"

"Because she was a challenge." Harald contemplated. "At first. To hurt Lagertha. Because there was something about her. But I, too, came to love her."

"As you love me?" Magnus asked.

"Yes."

Magnus scoffed. "What about the other woman you claimed to love? How much did you love her when you killed her husband?"

Harald was quiet for a moment. "Not at all, I reckon. Just an idea of her. A dream. My own pride, maybe." Harald regarded Magnus with a fond smile. "You have a keen eye and a sharp tongue. It's gotten only sharper now. But I never minded it all that much. I'd rather have that poison out of you, than have it fester inside of you."

"Still you pity me." Magnus stated disbelievingly.

"It's impossible not to."

"Am I that pathetic?"

"You scream from pain. And when you show it to me so openly, how can I not pity you? You showed yourself to me. Think about that. You asked me many questions today, I ask you that. I'll leave you to it." A smirk. "King of Mercia."

*

"My mother loved Aethelwulf." Magnus said without preamble. "They had not gotten along well before. He thought her a whore and a witch. She thought him boring. But after he saved us, after they'd nearly died there together, they truly loved each other. Aethelwulf mourned her. He truly mourned her. That you can have nothing but contempt for a person and then change your mind?"

"How do you know all that?" Harald asked.

"From watching Aethelwulf. From Ecbert."

"After he killed your mother he talked to you about her?" Harald asked incredulously.

"Yes. He was a terrible person. And still I was grateful for it. I am the terrible person I am today because of him. But then, of course, it was also my own choice. I could have decided to give in and be a good person. Humble and pious. Accept my lot in life. But I didn't."

"Because you are Viking."

"Who knows? I had to believe it. I'm not sure I still do."

"You are Viking. Just as your mother was."

"What does it matter?" Magnus replied a little too quickly. "I've had enough, now, of reminiscing. What do you say, Harald, a fuck, for old time's sake?"

"Do you want me?" Harald asked warily.

"I only do what I want or what I have to do. And right now, there's nothing I have to do any longer."

*

Magnus came to his bed more than just that one time, whenever he deigned to. Harald had not the pride to send him away. Love had very little to do with pride, he realised now. Love was bad decisions, mostly. And if you were not loved back, it was almost impossible to make anything but bad decisions. Killing Ellisif's husband back then that had been pride, though. If you truly loved, you only hurt yourself. He'd learned that now.

He'd realised something else, though. It wasn't just that he couldn't let go. Magnus didn't let him go. Magnus was calling out to him from the frozen lake again, and he couldn't walk away.

*

"I liked it. You standing by me, telling me all these things." Magnus said, as if it was a sad truth he was admitting, a foolish fancy, something regrettable. "No matter how I called you pathetic, and myself as well. I liked it."

"Do you really want to live your life never trusting anyone ever again?" Harald asked.

"I can surely try."

"What do you have to lose?"

"You have no idea what I lost!" Magnus exclaimed harshly, with a raw festering pain. "What I lost that day the gates of Winchester closed behind me."

*

The drunk Viking stepped into Harald's way. "You are not our king anymore. You're Magnus' bitch. You're a Christian's bitch. We should no longer follow you. But in truth, it's Magnus we follow, isn't it?" He laughed, spitting out on the ground. "I should have known you were never man enough. That's why your wife fucked me and my friends to save Lagertha."

"What?" Harald stared at him, face blank with shock that the mind yet refused to accept as anything other than a bad joke.

"The child... wasn't yours either. It was mine. Or one of my pals here." the swaying man, reeking of alcohol, laughed.

"What did you do to her?" Harald now demanded, anger in his voice while horror froze him to the spot.

"She wasn't all that eager when she learned it was gonna be all of us. But then, she didn't want you to find out either."

As Harald soared forward, he was held back by Mercian soldiers. Magnus was standing there, regarding both him and the men without emotion.

"Arrest these men." Magnus ordered.

"What are you doing?!" Harald asked him, half insane with anguish, uncomprehending of what was happening around him.

"You're doing it wrong." Magnus said. "You're always too rash. I'll show you what proper revenge looks like."

*

Harald stood in front of the torture chamber where Magnus had the men chained up.

"I just want to kill them." Harald stated. Was he begging? Was he telling? He didn't know.

"It won't make the pain go away." Magnus explained, voice maybe not as hard as usually.

"And this will?" Harald asked, feeling weak with pain, with helplessness. Helpless in what had happened to his wife. Helpless in the choice Magnus had taken from him. Helpless to find reprieve from the sickening anger that dug into him, from the pain that made him want to cry out. He felt hollowed out and faint. In a way, he was looking for someone to tell him what to do, to explain to him how to make this stop. In another way it felt worse that this was taken from him.

"No." Magnus answered now the question Harald had almost forgotten again. "But it lasts longer. And at some point, you'll be so sickened by it you'll just want it to end. Because they'll stop being people. That's what you take from them. They don't die as men, they don't die as people you hate. They die as nothing. Heaps of flesh that you can almost pity."

*

"Does it make you feel powerful, to show me how powerless I am?" Harald asked, stepping into Magnus' chamber that night, restless anger eating him up, more and more with every moment, with every moment that terrible truth sank in further. "Does my pain entertain you?"

Magnus looked at him, calm, not all that surprised, as always. And somehow that made him only angrier.

"Sure." Magnus replied now, not much conviction behind it, as if he couldn't even bother to make an effort.

"I curse the day I met you, you soulless creature!" Harald was shaking, his knuckles white, he wondered how he was even able still to set one foot in front of the other.

"Indeed." Magnus simply commented, as poised and unaffected as before, bored maybe even. Who knew?

Harald saw his own twisted reflection in the glass cabinet to the side, holding, among other things, Magnus' crown. And in sudden anger he put his fist through the front, glass splintering around him, and he barely even felt it, barely even felt the burn of the cuts on his hand.

"Come here." Magnus now said.

Harald swayed around, breathing heavily, regarding him with suspicion fogged over with rage that buzzed in his ears so loud he could barely hear anything else.

"Come to me." Magnus reinterated. Why would he sound so gentle, now of all times?

"No." Harald replied, shaking himself, as if the fog would leave then.

"Come to me, Harald."

Harald stalked over now, in fast, large steps, barely stopping before he'd slam into Magnus. He gripped his face with his bloody hand. "What do you want?! Huh?! What?"

"What do you want?"

So reasonable, so calm. Almost gentle, if gentle were an emotion Magnus could comprehend. Harald wanted to tighten his grip until the other screamed, until he lost this calm.

Instead he leaned forward and buried his face in the crook of Magnus' neck, letting out a howl, an animal groan. Magnus' arms closed around him.

When Harald looked up again, he saw his own blood smeared over half of Magnus' face. Unbidden the harsh thought occurred Magnus might even like that in his twisted mind. Another terrible thought occurred. "Are you repaying a favor?" he asked harshly, both hands gripping Magnus' face.

Magnus' eyes were like glaciers, hard and calm. And sincere. "I don't owe you anything."

It was a blessing, in this moment. 

He pulled Magnus' face harder towards his own, their lips clashing. Kissed him to forget. Because he could. Because he was the only thing that was still right, and even that was wrong.

He lifted him up, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him over to the bed, where he threw him down again. There he stood for a moment and regarded him, regarded this source of his turmoil and salvation equally. Nothing special about him outwardly, and still he drew Harald to him like a moth to the flame. There had been nothing benevolent about Magnus pulling him from his darkness the first time. He wasn't sure there was now.

"Are you just going to stare at me?" Magnus asked now, maybe even looking a little bit uneasy.

"No." Harald said roughly. "Certainly not."

He stripped off his clothes with quick hard moves, and climbed onto the bed, on top of Magnus, pressing him into the mattress, his mouth hard on the other's. And he was hard too. Despite the grief, the confusion, and the anger. He ripped the front of Magnus' shirt apart, running a biting line down his chest, as he rubbed himself against the other's body almost subconsciously. He felt like he was going out of his skin. Thousands of thoughts battling in his head, most of them not making any sense. He did not believe in Magnus' plan, because so far it was doing nothing for him. Magnus might like to play the long game, but Harald just wanted to destroy something. And he needed to fuck Magnus now, or he might kill him. Gods, was Magnus doing this out of –what did the Christians call it?– charity? Harald let out an angry snort. No, Magnus did not believe in charity. Magnus did things for Magnus, his angry mind supplied. But that wasn't quite true, and he knew it better than anyone. He did know, no matter what that terrible creature under him thought about that. Harald kissed him again, hard enough to bruise. Licked at the blood across his cheek and felt Magnus shudder. What had Magnus said that first night? 'Don't think of your dead wife'. He didn't want to. He just wanted to let go and forget. And Magnus understood.

Harald pushed down the other's pants. Only to stop. No. That was the intricate detail most people missed: Magnus misunderstood. Harald had thought he did it just to be contrary, but maybe when it came to the things that mattered, Magnus had truly forgotten, managed to read the wrong way, always.

"I would never hurt you." Harald now said. Because, while he might fantasize about throttling him, he never would.

"I wouldn't let you." was what Magnus replied, like it was obvious. "But I won't break because you fuck me. I never have."

"I'm not angry at you."

"Yes, you are."

"Yes. I am." Harald conceded grudgingly. "But it was wrong to turn my anger on you."

"But you are angry with me."

"Not about that. Not that kind of anger." Harald frowned, chasing words and thoughts alike. "I love you." 

"If you say so." Magnus replied with a lenient sigh.

"You are good." Harald said imploringly, immediately shaking his head in irritation. "No, I'm not finding the right words. You are good for me. You are good to me."

"Am I?"

*

Weeks later, the time had come that Harald finally let them die. He hadn't touched any of them. Magnus wouldn't even let him in the cell with them. They'd just stood there, Harald daily, Magnus from time to time, and watched.

"Did I lie?" Magnus asked now.

"No." Harald shook his head. "You scare me." he then added.

"I do?" Magnus asked with something that wasn't any kind of happy emotion.

"But that is alright. You're a man who warrants fear. Why do you care?"

"My mother was raped, as a girl." He paused, turning to look at Harald. "Is it so odd that I'd punish those who insult you?"

"You could have just let me kill them."

"Why should I let you make a mistake when I know better?"

"Your task is not done yet, you know." Harald then said.

"It isn't?" Magnus looked at him in wary curiosity.

"You've decided for yourself to deal with my rage. Now it falls to you to deal with my pain too. Will you listen to me?"

"Talk."

*

Magnus woke up in the morning with a stiff neck, half lying on Harald's bed, fully clothed, the other beside him, where they'd fallen asleep the night before, after he'd listened to Harald speak of Astrid for hours, and held him while he'd cried. Magnus stared at the sleeping man, ill at ease. Considered to sneak out before the other woke, which would have changed nothing about the fact that he'd been here. Unbidden the thought rose: I hope he'll cry for me like that. He didn't want that. He didn't need anyone to cry over him. It mattered nothing. There would be nothing left once he was gone.

That moment the other chose to wake up. There was no sudden panic on his face, not the deep, boneless despair from the night before, either. He seemed calm. Rested even. As if his soul had been cleansed of his sorrow. Catharsis, Magnus thought wryly. Harald on the other hand just sat up and regarded him solemnly, unnervingly.

Then he took Magnus' hand. "You were there in my darkest hour. I will be there in yours."

"Too late." was what Magnus replied as some starved part of his mind crawled out to howl a desperate: Thank God.

"In every hour to come, then." Harald amended, unperturbed. "Just to be on the save side."

"That's not a promise you can make."

"I just did."

"Maybe I don't want you to."

"You're the best liar I've ever known. But even you slip from time to time."

*

"I won't say something stupid, like, if you ever leave me I'll kill you." Magnus said to him, a couple days later, as always too brave to avert his eyes, never ever looking away. "You can leave if you want. Whenever. Just go."

"I won't." Harald replied simply.

"But you could." the other insisted.

Harald smiled. "But I won't."

"You say that now."

"I'm a simple and gullible man, remember that."

*

Maybe Ivar had been right, Magnus thought. Whoever wanted to be alone? Being alone was never a choice. It hadn't been for Magnus either. Fear had made that choice for him. And that fear in turn had been a decision others had made for him. Magnus would be afraid for the rest of his life. But he didn't need to be alone. He didn't need to throw himself out of the gates of the royal villa again and again, convincing himself that he had nothing but the crown, as he'd had nothing but the clothes on his back, then.

Magnus looked at Harald, sleeping over there in Magnus' bed like he had no care in the world. He could sleep peacefully, because at least he was brave enough to try again and again.

Magnus thought of his mother again, and Aethelwulf. His parents. And he thought of Ivar, and the thought made him smile. Maybe he'd found a brother in him. Maybe he had two other brothers still.

He sat down at his desk and started a letter to Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wondered for a long time about how I wanted to handle the whole 'realise you're in love'-part on Magnus' side. And I didn't really want to go the whole, 'oh, he saved my life, I love him' way, or the other way around. In the chapter before it was more to kinda nudge Magnus into the direction where he realises he wouldn't be too happy if Harald died, but it's not the tipping point.  
> Also, I didn't really think Magnus was the type for flowery love declarations, at least not honest ones. So, I'm a huge fan of kinda 'actions speak louder than words' relationships. So I thought it was the best way that Magnus kinda declares his caring for Harald in the most gruesome and wordless way possible. xD Like, he is there for him, but he doesn't admit it for just one second. He even allows Harald, in his anger, to only see Magnus having ill intentions with what he does. Like, he allows Harald to grieve in any way he wants. Because I believe Magnus is capable of great empathy, you have to be to be a great manipulator.


	20. False gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you get this chapter right away, too, because I can't wait any longer.^^

The truth's on the table, someone has to sign  
I've done my best defending  
But the punches are starting to land  
I'm sliding into something you won't understand

I've done my best to fill 'em  
But the cracks are starting to spread  
Hey, I won't blame you, baby  
Go on, turn your head  
But don't give up on me

(The Killers - Rut)

***

KATTEGAT

"I want to have sex with you, priest." Ivar informed him, blasé, as they played chess.

"I know." Heahmund simply replied.

"I'm not a threat to you, am I?" Ivar assessed amused. "You're not even taking me serious. Maybe I should let one of the man fuck you and watch. Or there are these wooden toys I've heard women use." Ivar leaned in closer. "I could fuck you with one of those."

Heahmund smiled mildly. "I'm not going to let you fuck me in any form. So your words are of little importance to me."

"Why?"

Heahmund raised an eyebrow.

"Not curious?" Ivar followed up.

"Not particularly."

"Not even," Ivar grinned. "for charity?"

Heahmund snorted. He smiled at Ivar more amused than anything. "Have you no shame?"

Ivar still grinned. "None at all."

"If you wanna play games, Ivar. Play them with your wife."

Ivar smirked, leaning closer to Heahmund. "I'll think of you. When I have my fingers inside her." He put two of his fingers into his mouth, licking them with a wet sound.

*

Ivar could pretend that everything was as he wanted it to be only for so long. He could distract Heahmund only for so long with flirtations and provocations. And Heahmund was not distracted. He saw more clearly now than he had in England.

He wondered if Ivar had tried to save him by bringing him here. If, in his own way, Ivar had tried to help, or if it had been selfishness as always. But unlike the last time, Heahmund's mind wasn't on escape. Since he'd come back to Kattegat, his thoughts had been on many things, most of all trying to decipher the deep conflict that was festering in Ivar. The kingdom he'd created he seemed to try to escape, most days, holing up with his son and Heahmund, shunning those who'd come to see him.

That's what Heahmund's thoughts were one. On escape, though, he had not pondered. Freely he'd walked past the harbor and had not even considered the ships there. What was more vexing, his own inaction or that Ivar seemingly had known he wouldn't escape? He wasn't sure. What he knew, though, was that for now this here felt like reprieve.

Watching Ivar's struggle was not enough to take his mind of his own, though. A reprieve, yes. But the thing about reprieves was, they ended. Sin through inaction. What did it make him if he didn't even attempt to regain his freedom? What would he even do here? Panic filled his heart as he imagined never leaving here again. He was not sure if it was the thought of being trapped here, or if the thought wasn't all that terrible. But the truth was there was no place for a Christian priest among these heathens. There hadn't been for Brother Athelstan, and there wasn't for him. He was a curiosity to Ivar. Could he truly call their friendship that? Friends. Yes. The only friend he had in this world.

He'd done all he could and it hadn't been enough. What more could he give? While he considered what place he had here, what place was there for him in Wessex? But, oh, that was blasphemy. He'd go back and he'd suffer the disregard he deserved. He'd suffer all he deserved. Humble and penitent. That was the only way to salvation left for him. He'd learn humility.

*

"Do you want your sword back?" Ivar asked, and Heahmund stared at him caught off guard.

"What?"

"Just like you, it seems to keep coming back to me." Ivar said with a smile, reaching for the sword that had been lying, wrapped up, beside him. "Do you want it?" he now asked again, a mischivous smile at the corners of his mouth.

"Of course I want it back." Heahmund replied with mild irritation at Ivar's newest game.

"Then you shall have it." Ivar simply said, and handed it over to him.

Perplexed, Heahmund took the offered item, the metal in his hands still as familiar as if they'd never been separated. He looked up at Ivar again, waiting for a condition, a trick, but the other only regarded him, smiling somewhat benignly.

*

Ivar came back from another parade around the city, another round of forced worship. And his face looked cracked and disgusted as he returned. He washed the paint of his face with violent ferocity, as if he was washing off a far deeper stain. The crown went to the floor with a clatter.

Heahmund's hand touched Ivar's face without thinking. "Stop being so angry all the time."

"Why? You are angry all the time." Ivar returned almost petulantly, despite there being nothing childish about his weariness.

Heahmund blinked a few times, brows drawn. Then nodded in grudging acknowledgment. "Yes, but I am turmoiled and lost. What is it that you are lacking? Is it not all you dreamed of?"

"Why, yes." Ivar replied with fake joviality. "Take a look outside. It is more than anyone could ask for. It's exactly as perfect as returning to England was for you, priest." Ivar stared at him from dark angry pits. "Maybe I am turmoiled and lost, too, priest. You ever think of that?" Ivar didn't wait for an answer. "Maybe it is the lot of gods to be surrounded by false worshipers. I'm not sure what I expected."

"You do not believe yourself to be a god."

"No, no, certainly not. No man who can barely stand to take a piss, could fathom himself a god." Ivar scoffed bitterly. "What about you, then, Heahmund, what makes you so angry?"

"Oh, I hate myself. But not enough to not also hate those who wronged me."

"We are very much the same then. As we always were." For a moment a lightness came to Ivar's face, then his expression turned dark again, as his hand snapped forward, grabbing Heahmund's arm. "I need you to believe in me, priest." Ivar said urgently, pleadingly.

Heahmund looked at Ivar. "What about you? Can you still believe in me? Can you?"

*

Then one morning there's a pig head on Ivar's statue and Heahmund honestly did not know how Ivar was going to react, strung tight like a bowstring ready to snap, as he was most days now. As if, in England, Ivar'd forgotten how bad it truly was here in Kattegat.

And the girl responsible, seemingly a lover of Hvitserk, she told Ivar to his face, all the things anyone could see.

And Ivar, he smiled and looked for a moment again like the Ivar Heahmund had come to know. The one who would smirk at him with mischief, as they discussed their respective religions. Not the one who painted his face like something from hell, and committed acts befitting any such creature. It was a brittle, terrifying power Ivar exuded these days. Like a dying star.

As Heahmund pondered these things, a wary eye on Ivar and the girl, Ivar addressed her, still smiling."You spoke well." He got up and took her by the arm. "Come."

Heahmund followed as Ivar led her outside where the people were gathered around the statue. There was a huge bonfire, which people were eying with trepidation, rows of Ivar's warriors surrounding them.

And Ivar stepped before the people, presenting the girl to them. And his eyes were hard and angry when he looked into the crowd.

"She speaks true!" Ivar shouted. "Why is she the only one who does? When surely the rest of you must see it too! I'm no god. That pole, whether it has a pig-head or not, it does not matter. Why do you all lie? Why is all you ever do lie to me? Because you fear me, because you're greedy." he answered his own question, disgust in his voice. "She is the only one who would speak true to me, so she's the only one who has my respect. For the rest of you, why are you here? Huh? Why?" He laughed. "Even my brother didn't know why he was here. Maybe because he was afraid of me." Ivar wiggled his hand contemplatively. "Maybe because he wanted part of my glory. He didn't know until the end. He died an unfulfilled and meaningless death, because he did not know what he was fighting for." Ivar's face tensed up in a deeper and darker anger. A painful one. His voice cold and resentful. "You wouldn't follow my father, who'd brought you riches and fame, when he needed you most. He is dead, because you refused him help. And yet, as soon as he's dead, suddenly he's the father of all of you? You are shallow and short-sighted. And most of all ungrateful. You wouldn't follow my father, yet you follow me?" Ivar gave a sharp laugh. "Why? Look at me, I'm a cripple. Why would you be scared of me? Any of you could strike me down." He looked around. "Not any of you? Why not? Come on, not at least one of you? What could I do?"

One of the men stepped forward, face in a mask of rage and fear, his axe raised. He landed dead on the floor before someone had even perceived Heahmund drawing his sword.

Ivar looked at Heahmund in surprise, then back at the masses. "Well, that of course." He laughed. Then he spoke again, weary and sickened. "My brother followed me because he was too embarrassed to go back home, beaten and bruised. Not because he loved me, not because he believed in me. Because he was too ashamed to go home. Are you all here for equally embarrassing reasons? If yes, there's a nice Viking settlement in England, I hear. Maybe you can even become Christians. After all, you enjoy praying to gods that don't exist."

Ivar raised his hand and suddenly all his soldiers stepped forward, ropes in their hands. And they slung them around the statue and pulled it into the fire.

Ivar stood there with grim satisfaction, for a moment, and watched it burn. 

Then he looked into the shocked masses with anger and disgust. "How long would you have went along?! Even this one and the priest Athelstan, Christians, had more spine than you. They would not pray to gods they did not believe in."

That being said, he turned around and walked back inside. And it looked to Heahmund like he was limping more pronounced again. Like every step was one too many.

Ivar sat down heavily on his throne, with a labored sigh. And even then his face was frozen in a frown.

Heahmund knelt down in front of him, and started unlatching the braces on his legs.

"Warn me the next time." Heahmund said.

"I didn't plan it." Ivar said. "I was just so sick and tired of their lies and cowardice. I'm surprised, though. You saved me." A small smile.

Heahmund simply nodded, not giving an explanation. "They're scared." he then said.

"Yes, but why? Are you scared of me?"

Heahmund snorted. And Ivar grinned, the weariness that made him seem older than he was, lifting from his face.

*

"No one just touches my legs." Ivar said the next morning. It was quiet, the hour very early. Freydis and the child still asleep, none other warriors or servants having ventured in yet. Maybe they were afraid, after yesterday. Heahmund had made breakfast himself, and Ivar had joined him. 

"No?" Heahmund replied non-committally to Ivar's statement that had not been reproach, more question.

"Is there anything that disgusts you?"

"There are many things."

Ivar made a faint snorting noise. "But not me?"

"Not you." Heahmund agreed, his eyes still on his porridge, spoon dangling between his fingers, halfway to the bowl.

"What put you in such a kind and generous mood with me?" Ivar asked curiosly.

"You wanted their fear." Heahmund continued, looking straight at him now. "You know that."

"Oh yes," Ivar agreed. "But, really, there must be something in that food today. You're in such a mellow mood."

"Do not deflect. I realise what happened yesterday. But you cannot continue like this."

Ivar gave him an anguish-filled smile. "They all hate me. And I hate them. I hate them for their weakness and they hate me for my cruelty. But it was only their cruelty over my weakness that made me like this."

"I'm sorry, Ivar."

"Why, priest? Why would you be sorry for me?"

"Because what you say makes sense. Because I saw you save a child that your father would have left to die. Because I know you love that child, and it won't grow up like you did."

"It's easy to empathize with someone sharing your own pain." Ivar said dismissively.

"No." Heahmund smiled. "No, it's not. Most people would choose to hate the traits they can't accept about themselves, in others."

Ivar stared at him. "How could I not want you?" he said with marvel. "You and Baldur, you're the only two people I don't hate."

"You still have your brothers. And Floki."

Ivar made a dismissive gesture. "They're far away. What good do they do me, huh? They're of as much use to me as my dead mother. They're as much use to me as your fucking agape." He laughed. "As much good as agape ever was to you. You can't love something that's not there. Well, you can. But it will only bring you grief."

"I know." Heahmund let out a harsh laugh, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. "God, I know."

*

"But, Ivar, you see that is the problem. You started your rule here with hate for these people, blaming them for your father's death. But you can not rule with hate in your heart. You can not be a king like that. Put your hate behind you. Or put this place behind you."

"It's not that easy, priest."

"I know it's not."

"I do not know if they could anything other but hate me. I do not know if I could anything but hate them."

*

"What are you doing here, Ivar?" Heahmund asked, stepping beside him.

"Enjoying the storm." Ivar replied, face still tilted up into the rain, as above them thunder cracked. "Did you know," he now said, gaze going into the distance where the mountains lay. "that I've never been on a mountain? For what it concerns me, they could be the sky, so far away are they."

"Is this your subtle attempt to ask me to carry you up one?"

"My father carried Athelstan up there." Ivar now said pensively, eyes still on the mountains. "Did you know that?"

"I did not."

"He buried him up there somewhere. I don't know. No one does. Do you want me to bury you up there?"

Heahmund laughed. "I don't plan to die here, Ivar."

"You think you'll get back to England?"

"Yes. And if not, it matters not where you bury me. There is no holy ground in this country."

"Does that scare you?" Ivar had turned fully towards Heahmund now.

"Yes. Not as much as it used to."

"I'd go to your hell with you if need be."

"And miss out on Valhalla?" Heahmund raised an doubtful eyebrow as he smiled.

Ivar shrugged. "I like going new places, meeting new people."

Heahmund laughed. "Go inside, Ivar. Before your gods take offense."

This time Ivar humoringly complied.

They were both drenched through.

"I'm cold, priest." Ivar said, ice-cold fingertips touching Heahmund's face.

"That's no surprise." Heahmund commented, then turned to call one of the slave girls, ordering her to prepare a hot bath.

When it had arrived, Heahmund turned around to let Ivar undress.

As Ivar lay in the bathtub he reached out a hand to Heahmund, grasping his. His eyes were solemn and earnest.

"We don't have to be alone." Ivar said. "You and me, priest. You don't have to despair. Can't you see it?"

"What are you doing, Ivar?"

"I'm taking pity on you."

"You pity me?"

"Yes. Our pain is much the same. All it would need is for you to let go."

"Let go of what, Ivar?"

"An image of yourself that was too ambitious to begin with."

"I should let go of my pride, but you won't?"

"I don't need my pride." Ivar said wistfully. "I don't even need Kattegat. You asked me if I was tired, in York. And I am. And if you truly believed in that loving god of yours, you'd see that he's made us for each other." Ivar sat fully up now, turning to face Heahmund. "Have you not felt the earth shaking when we first met?"

"That seems overly romantic." Heahmund said with a small smile.

Ivar laughed. "The earth shaking is romantic to you? Others would call it terrifying."

"What makes you think I return your feelings?"

"Because I'm the only one you tell your fears. Because I'm the only one who forgives your sins. Because in a different life, if you had the choice, you would be fighting for me."

***

We'll take the long walk  
Down the alleys of these houses  
And we'll talk  
See what conversation rouses  
When we're alone  
When we're alone, it could be home

(Ellie Goulding - Halcyon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, the song at the beginning of the chapter, together with Eros by Ludovico Einaudi, are kinda my two Ivar songs to this story.^^


	21. The moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both the title and the song at the beginning of the chapter are very much inspired by my dear friend seamayweed, to whom this chapter is dedicated! <3

Are you true to me?   
Are these vows we say profane?   
Are you true to me?   
Are these vows we make obscene?

(Horse Feathers - Heathen's kiss)

***

"Who's attacking us?" Heahmund asked, as he rushed up to the battlements, where Ivar was already standing.

"The Frankians. My uncle Rollo."

"I'm not going to fight." Heahmund said.

"That seems foolish." Ivar dismissed his words. "Your English have been at war with the Frankians before."

"I'm a warrior of the church, Ivar."

"You keep saying that, but I'm still not sure what exactly that means." Ivar scoffed.

*

Heahmund stayed true to his intent, and remained inside, praying as Ivar's warriors defended Kattegat. There was only so much Heahmund was willing to give up. He might be a lost cause, but he needn't load more unforgivable sin upon his soul. Those men attacking Kattegat were Christian. Had they attacked Wessex, he would have fought them. But what justification had he to fight them to protect heathens?

His question was answered sooner than expected, as the great hall caught fire from the arrows sent their way.

"Freydis." Heahmund ordered. "Get Baldur."

As the young woman rushed back with the child in her arms, he took it from her. "Give him to me." 

Heahmund had her help him bind the child on his back, with a shield to cover it. Then he beckoned her. "We need to leave."

"There's a secret exit under the palisades." Freydis told him.

The Frankian soldiers were already well into the city, the gate broken down. They were flooding the streets of Kattegat, mayhem and destruction all around. Heahmund unsheathed his sword and the killing came to him easy as always. While the Viking warriors at times were a match for him, the Frankians were not, just like no man in England was. Single-mindedly on his task, all thoughts on the moral implications of his actions were cast from his mind, as he cut a merciless path towards the palisades.

The tunnel was where Freydis had described it, and through it they made their way outside the city walls, into the woods.

"There's a place where they might not look for us." Heahmund said. "Ragnar hid there before."

The child had remained quiet, a small warm weight against his back, unperturbed by screams and noise around him. 

When Heahmund handed him back to his mother, once they were in the woods, he saw that Baldur had been asleep until now and only now sleepily blinked at him. And Heahmund felt a smile tug at his mouth. He had to think of the child's father, for that's what Ivar was in every way that mattered.

*

They'd been there long enough that Heahmund had been able to check that no one had followed them. Freydis, Baldur back in her arms, regarded him intently as he paced up and down the house.

"I have to go back and look for Ivar." Heahmund told her, without preamble. It was not even so much that he felt he had to save him. He didn't. He just needed to know whether he was alive or dead. He needed to know.

She only nodded. "We'll be here."

*

Ivar arrived at the house where Lagertha and the priest had hidden the last time. He'd been so sure they must be here, when he'd found all three of them gone. He knew the priest must have taken them away. 

But no one was there. No traces that anyone had been here since he'd found Margrete there.

Priest, where are you? 

Of course there was a chance that the corpses of his wife and Baldur and the priest where lying somewhere in the city, burned beyond recognition. But Ivar did not believe it. Could not for a second believe it. Where else could the priest have gone to?

*

He ran into Heahmund halfway to Floki's hut.

"Ivar." the priest said his name like an expelled breath.

"There you are." Ivar commented lightly, not showing that there had been the nagging question if the three were even still alive. "We won, by the way. You should have more faith in me."

"So I should have left your family there, when the great hall started burning down?" The priest quirked an eyebrow.

"You should not have left them alone here." Ivar reproached. "I would have either been already dead or alright. Not much your presence could have changed about that."

"No. I know."

Still, secretly, Ivar smiled at the thought of the priest wanting to look for him.

*

And there, at Floki's hut, they were. Freydis and Baldur. Both alive and healthy.

"The other hut, Rollo knew of it." Heahmund explained in a by-the-way manner.

"Of course." Ivar agreed. "Good thing I showed you this place, then."

"Yes."

"Let's stay here a while." Ivar said. "I used to love to come here." He looked up at the dark tips of the trees that reached high enough to cover up the sky.

"Do you not wish to return to Kattegat? To celebrate your victory?" Heahmund asked.

"If I wanted that, would I have proposed to stay here?"

Freydis had gone back inside. The men who'd accompanied Ivar, with her.

"Stay with me. Priest." Ivar started walking further into the woods, rather dexterily with his braces.

"It's dangerous, Ivar." Heahmund warned, catching up with him. "There could be stragglers of Rollo's army."

"I've got you." Ivar said, smiling, putting a hand on Heahmund's arm.

They arrived at what used to be Floki's workshop, still the hulls of unfinished boats there, covered in moss by now.

Ivar let himself to the ground, leaning against one of them. "Sit with me, priest."

Heahmund warily sat down beside Ivar, putting his sword at his side, as his eyes scanned the edge of the woods.

"Priest?"

When Heahmund turned to face him, Ivar put a hand to his face and kissed him. The angle wasn't really comfortable but what could you do? He kissed the priest softly, chastely as the Christians might say. He did not take advantage of the priest's mouth that was open by surprise probably.

When he let him go again, Heahmund was staring at him dumbfoundedly.

Ivar smiled. "I had to do it at some point." His smile widened into something unbearably fond. "Did you honestly think you could do something like that, and this wouldn't happen?"

The priest was quiet.

"Did you know my father was here with his priest for a while?" Ivar asked then, still a smile tingling at the corners of his mouth, soft and peaceful. "He'd had to flee, back then. And the priest Athelstan saved his life, even though he was still a slave. I wonder if they sat here as we do now."

"I didn't save your life." Heahmund gave to consider, as always first to point out his own short-comings. While he liked to paint a perfect picture to his English fellows, he seemed adamant to make sure Ivar saw him in the worst light possible. Without any success. In fact, the opposite exactly.

"No." Ivar agreed. "You saved something far more important. Instead of reminding me that I'm a monster, my son reminds me that I'm not. Remember that too, priest. I'm no god and you're no saint. No one but god never lies, cheats or compromises." Ivar's voice had turned soft like the murmur of the wind in the trees. "You told me that yourself. Don't be so hard on yourself. We're just two men. Maybe heroes or legends, one day. But for now we're still alive."

Ivar was used by now to silence from the priest. He was startled, though, when he realised the other had started to cry. Silently at first. But soon the aborted noises could not be mistaken for anything other than the sobs they were.

Ivar just stared at the priest for a few helpless, surreal moments, before he could make out words again, in between the heartbreaking guttural sobs.

"It is so hard." The priest's voice was rough and husky. "It is so hard."

Ivar could not truly remember ever wanting to comfort someone. He remembered countless occasions where he'd say something harsh and derisive to his own mother, when he was still just a child. But now he reached over and pulled the priest's head onto his shoulder.

Like that they sat for hours it felt. Until for a long time the only sound coming from Heahmund had been his harsh breaths, the only thing still betraying his former turmoil.

The sun was shining burning-red through the trees, just about waiting to sink behind the horizon.

Heahmund sat up straight again. "Thank you."

Ivar smiled. "That's quite alright."

He let the priest pull him back to his feet. And they returned to the house.

*

At night they found themselves outside again.

"It's a full moon tonight." Ivar said not turning around when he heard the priest's footsteps.

"So it is." Heahmund stepped beside him.

And now Ivar turned after all. The priest wasn't wearing his customary chainmail shirt. Not even the thick leather vest. Just a simple woolen shift that reached to his knees. He must have been asleep already, his hair was mussed, his face less tense. It made him look younger. And Ivar could not fathom how he'd never watched the priest sleep before, made a mental note to make time just for sitting beside his bed and watching him.   
Ivar himself was fully dressed, of course. Always the need to cover his legs. He'd heaved himself up onto the railing of the house's veranda, leaning back against one of the wooden pillars that held the roof.

"Step closer to me." Ivar said.

Heahmund did. 

Ivar put a hand to the other's face. Softly. Heahmund let out a breath. And Ivar put his other hand to his chest as if he could still feel the expelled breath there.

"I knew we'd be standing together under a moon again." Ivar said, barely more than a whisper.

"Did you now?" The priest smiled. And this smile, too, like the blue of his eyes and the lines on his face, was washed soft by the last remnants of sleep that still clung to him.

"I haven't been asleep." Ivar said.

"No?"

"No." Ivar continued in the whispering voice that did not sound like him at all. "I was awake. And I thought about you. All the time." Experimentally he moved his thumb that had so far just lain on Heahmund's face. Just brushed it across the skin, softly, a caress no more palpable than his whisper.

"I feel..." the priest suddenly spoke, and even that sounded like the vowels were stones too long in water, softened at the edges. "... like you're the only person who wants me the way I am."

"I do." Ivar replied solemnly, proudly. "Can I kiss you again?"

"Tonight, Ivar, you can do with me whatever you want." his priest returned in a rough whisper.

The kiss started out as soft as the first one. But this time Ivar dared to breach the other's lips. Felt the goosebumps on the priest's neck where his hand had now come to rest. And then Heahmund's hands were on him, as he leaned further into Ivar. He could feel the priest's fingers threading into his braids. And when one of the priest's hands came the rest on his leg, Ivar could not bring himself to care, only leaned further in, claiming more of the priest's mouth, of his body, letting his hands, in turn, wander across the other man's chest.

And above them, the moon shone on, casting everything into her silvery light. And Ivar cared not how faithful she was, for the priest had been true to him. Not always, not forever, but where it truly mattered.

And he let his hands wander under the priest's shift, touched those strong perfect thighs that were so unlike his own, ran his hands along them, inside and out. Then he touched the flesh between them, a breathless, fluttering feeling inside him when he found the priest hard. And he touched him in a way he'd long given up trying to do to himself. And drank up every open-mouthed moan he wrang from Heahmund. And he wanted to laugh and cry alike, with the priest here, a warm impossibly alive weight against Ivar's body, pliable and wanting. He wondered for a moment if the priest was imagining someone else here with him, but then, Heahmund's hand was still lying on Ivar's thigh, fingers digging in, clinging to him.

When the priest had spilled over his hand, Ivar wrapped his arms around him pulling him close.

"You and me," Ivar said. "We are Hodr and Baldr, risen from Hel after Ragnarok, to live together peacefully in a world that is ours. The cripple and the best and fairest of them all." Ivar smiled a little, a private fond smile.

"The world has not ended, Ivar." Heahmund whispered softly into Ivar's hair.

"Let me believe it for a moment longer."

So they remained like that, as Ivar had asked, for a while longer. Nothing else needed to be said for, tonight. Ivar didn't know if Heahmund understood the weight of what had happened. If he knew yet, that he irrevocably belonged to Ivar now. But, the priest was a smart man, daring where others fled, so maybe he did.

*

The next morning they returned to the city, quietly, through the secret passage. None of the pomp and showmanship Ivar usually so liked. No return of the king. Unseen they made their way into Kattegat and without drawing too much attention to themselves, they went back to the charred but intact remains of the great hall. Repairs to the city walls and destroyed houses were in full process, so no one payed too much attention to them.

"What now?" Heahmund asked. "We have to expect Rollo to attack again."

"No. We won't wait for him. We'll come after him. As soon as the city is fortified again. You will lead the men."

"You recall that I said I wouldn't fight against them?"

Ivar gave him a level look. "Does that really still matter?"

"No." Heahmund conceded.

"I think your ability to accept your vices is actually a virtue." Ivar paused, sudden thought striking. He scrutinized Heahmund warily, worry in his eyes. "You're not going to hurt yourself, are you?"

"What?"

"Because of what we did. For penance."

Heahmund's frown made room for a small smile. "No, Ivar, I won't. It's too late for that."

"That's not good enough for me." Ivar said, savage all of a sudden.

"What do you mean?"

"What we did is nothing for which you have to ask for forgiveness."

"It's not that easy."

Ivar backed him against the wall, eyes blazing. "Yes, it is. What's between us, priest, is holy."

"That's blasphemous, Ivar."

"No, it's not. What's between us is pure and perfect. Is love not something your god deems as good? You think I just desire you." Ivar said, voice still hot and intense but no longer angry. "But I don't. I want all of you. Your body and your mind. Everything. Just for me to own. Nothing left for anyone else."

"You are greedy, Ivar."

"Yes." Ivar nodded vigorously. "Yes, I am."

*

Heahmund lead the warriors against what was left of Rollo's troops and drove them back to their ships.

There he met the man infatuated with Lagertha, for the first time in person, as they met to negotiate his retreat. He did not seem like a Viking, not really. He was all done up like a Christian king. It made Heahmund feel strange in their reversed roles. Self-consciously he wondered if there was something savage about his appearance, if his fall from grace was visible.

"Your a Christian." Rollo said with surprise, in English, which he must have learned just as French.

"Yes." Heahmund replied tightly.

"I remember you. You're that priest. You were with Lagertha."

"Yes."

"What does a Christian do leading Ivar's army?" Rollo seemed most of all amused about all this.

"You're a Christian now, so you tell me." Heahmund shot back, irritation overlaying his self-consciousness.

Rollo laughed. "You're nothing like Athelstan. Floki must be pissed."

"Floki is gone."

"Is he dead?"

"No. Just gone."

"Well fuck." Rollo seemed genuinely perturbed by this. "What about Bjorn and Lagertha?"

"Still in England."

"So I might see them again." 

"If I let you leave." Heahmund stated drily.

Rollo laughed again. "No, nothing like Athelstan. Although you just seem to keep coming back as well."

"That wasn't my choice."

"And yet you're fighting for Ivar just as Athelstan fought for my brother."

"Momentarily."

Rollo raised an eyebrow. "Is that right? Well, I'm the one who picked salvation, what did you choose?"

*

On his return to Kattegat, Heahmund was caught in deep thought on the words the brother of Ragnar Lothbrok had spoken to him. What had he chosen? Had he chosen anything? Or was choice something he'd pushed further into the distance again and again, as if that in itself wasn't a choice in it's own.

It had been a game. Heahmund had been aware of Ivar's attraction to him, before the other, maybe even. He hadn't been shocked. He was no stranger to sin. And this was certainly not the most disturbing of Ivar's. He'd played with it and it had amused him, as all of their back and forth, their verbal battles, had. But it was different now. The game had turned into something else. Trust could not be given in turn without something changing. They'd played the game too far. Until Heahmund had realised he talked to Ivar because there was no one else who'd listen. He talked to him because he wanted to. And it was one thing to sell your soul in small pieces, convincing yourself you were still whole, or to throw it away in it's entirety with seeing eyes.

*

With the Frankian army finally out of the picture, it finally seemed time for the next step in their relationship.

Ivar called the men into a town meeting. No one refused his summons. They all stood there, different degrees of trepidation on their faces.

"Who of you ever fucked a man?" Ivar asked.

Silence, then murmured assent from quite a few.

"Consensual?" Ivar thundered.

More shocked silence.

"Come on, now." Ivar said menacingly mild. "Speak up. There'll be a bounty for those who step forward."

Considerably fewer voices spoke up.

"Alright." Ivar stated briskly. "Follow me inside." 

The soldiers led the jumpy and uneasy men into the great hall.

"Alright, then." Ivar started all business-like, once he'd sat down on his throne. "I need advice. Which of you would consider that their partners were satisfied? Now, be honest. It will help neither of us if you lie to me or yourselves."

The first one, haltingly, dared to speak up.

"Holger." Ivar acknowledged pleasantly. "Good man. Good man."

*

"I want to try something, later." Ivar said, teeth gleaming in his smile.

"What else is it you want, Ivar?" Heahmund asked warily. "Was it not already concession enough you got out of me in the woods? Are you not happy with your victory?"

"Is it still a challenge for you, priest?" Ivar asked. "Is it easier that way, is it easier than love? Is my touch truly so much more sinful than hers? But fine, priest," He smiled. "You don't need to admit anything. Let it be our secret."

"Is that not what I am to you? A challenge. You don't want worship, you want strife. And I'm the only one who'll give it to you."

"Generally speaking that is true. But between you and me," Ivar stretched out a hand, almost touching Heahmund. "strife is not what I want." He chuckled. "What you let me do at Floki's hut, was it just a lapse of judgement?"

"It always is."

"Harsh, priest." Ivar replied, still an amused glint in his eyes. "To me and to you." He took a step closer. "So tell me, do you think your judgement might lapse again? Aren't you tired of always praying your sins away, when you're going to commit them again, anyway? I know I crave it, to touch your flesh again." Ivar took another step.

"You are wrong. I'm not the one who's afraid of carnal pleasures. You're the one who will barely let anyone touch him. And I'm not some doll to play with." Heahmund added with some irritation.

Ivar considered that, then nodded. "Very well. A challenge again. If that's how you want it. You should know I'm willing to do anything to get what I want."

*

Ivar let Heahmund undress him, even his hideous legs, laid out bare before him. No disgust, there never was with the priest, not when it came to him. Only with himself the priest wasn't as gracious. But Ivar felt not calmed by it. With Freydis he could tell her to stop. But if he told Heahmund to stop, this game would be over, and the priest would retreat back behind his excuses, pretenses and vows.

The priest laid him out on the bed, kissing every inch of his body, what was whole and what wasn't. And Ivar burned with shame, but with something else too. Because it hadn't been like this. Margrete had been as disgusted by him as he was by himself. And Freydis, at his command, had only ever looked at the parts of him that were whole. And this, this was terrible in it's vulnerability, and yet soothing in a way he had not thought possible. It was acceptance of something Ivar had not been able to accept his entire life. It was once more gazes meeting across a battlefield. Freydis had told him he was perfect, and maybe she'd even meant it. Maybe she could have come to accept him if he'd been brave enough. But at the bottom line he could never trust anyone other than the man who'd looked at him as he'd sat on the ground of a battlefield, covered in blood.

Ivar sat up again, his whole body tingling, small aftershocks of the priest's touch still reverberating across every inch of his skin. Whatever the priest had deemed to accomplish, it seemed done. "Don't forget, priest, this is an exchange. I let you have your way, now you'll let me do what I want."

*

Heahmund felt a tentative hand softly run over his back, when what the other hand was doing was anything but tentative. He had not expected this, although Ivar had joked about it once. While clumsy at first, it was at a point now when it was hard for Heahmund to collect his thoughts. He had never sought control in his sexual encounters, the opposite in fact. But with Ivar it seemed necessary. Necessary to retain control. What weakness was there truly in lust? Except with Ivar there was weakness in every concession. And especially these days, when it felt like maybe he'd lost already, it seemed more important than ever. Because if he lost, what then? What happened then?

Ivar couldn't believe the priest would let him do this. But just like him the priest had never been one to back away from a challenge. Then the most unexpected happened, and Ivar felt himself get hard.

Suddenly the toy was removed, hot flesh pushed inside him instead. Heahmund gasped at the sensation. There was Ivar's face, feverish skin pressed between his shoulder blades, licking the sheen of sweat there. 

"You are a wonderous creature, priest." Ivar's lips murmured against his skin, as if he was feeling the words instead of hearing them.

But Heahmund could not reply, could only concentrate on the new, so much more intimate pressure inside him. This wasn't the game they'd agreed on. This was nothing Heahmund had been prepared for. And he found sounds tearing from his throat each time Ivar demanded his way inside his body, that were needy and mangled. A fallen warrior begging for the deathblow, as life spilled out of him. He'd been pushed too far by Ivar before, and this was too much. The sealing of a pact they'd never made with words. It was enough to push Heahmund over the edge.

He lay there afterwards in a slightly surreal daze, feeling as Ivar over and over again buried himself in his body, murmuring feverish whispers against his skin, the Viking language having become so familiar to him that even now he had no problem discerning the meaning. And his wrung-out yet insatiable body shuddered as Ivar told him that he was beautiful and perfect and made for him, as he did this to him, when Heahmund felt so utterly the opposite of all that, yet let Ivar continue to take his own satisfaction out of his body, to use him in whatever way he saw fit. He could not believe it when he realised the harsh groan had come from his mouth, his body not lying even if Heahmund often did, even to himself. He relished the abuse of his oversensitive flesh, moaned more freely now. Raw and keening. Ivar gasped behind him. Bit his skin, kissed, sucked, as if he was trying to indeed eat him up. Then Heahmund felt hot seed filling him. And Ivar fell on top of him, not moving, more like he was trying to cover as much of Heahmund as he could, still lapping at the sweat on his skin, like an animal.

"Do I really taste that good?" Heahmund asked with more wryness than he'd expected to be able of, in his dazed state.

"Better than anything I know." Ivar whispered into his ear without a moment of hesitation.

Ivar finally pulled out of him, falling down beside him, and Heahmund felt raw now, tender, strangely vulnerable through it. Even more so when he felt the traces of Ivar's claim on him, drip from his body. Sticky and damning. And he felt like he may have given a concession he wasn't sure how to deal with now. Which seemed strange, given how many concessions he'd given already. How many confessions, if maybe not in words.

He sat up too abruptly, only the wish to get away from this scene, and hissed in pain. Dull, deep inside him. He'd given in to Ivar's games, to his pushing, because he'd wanted it. Deep down. Even if he had not admitted it even to himself. And it hadn't been just the physical. That was something he could have accepted. But since the woods, and long before if he was honest (and everything other seemed a waste of effort at this point), this was about something other than flesh rubbing against each other. This was so much worse. It made you vulnerable in a way a fuck never could. And while Ivar had stated his love for him unabashedly many times, and Heahmund was fearing he returned the feelings, it left him helpless in a way he had not known. And now he did not know how to act. It had been possible to deny it, before this last line had been crossed. So many excuses to be found. At any time he'd told himself, any time now, any time he would turn his back and go back to the life he'd vowed himself to.

Suddenly Ivar's face was in his field of vision, frowning, worry-creased brows. "Did I hurt you?" he asked tentatively. So concerned. How was it Ivar could be so callous to nearly everyone, and always so concerned about him?

"No." Heahmund replied.

"Did you like it?" Tentative now, in a way that was absolutely not warranted.

And it made Heahmund's brows crease up in a helpless smile. "What do you think, Ivar?"

*

It seemed impossible in how many ways you could tell another person you loved them, and it still did not seem to stick. A few days later, the priest still fought some unseen fight, continuing their stalemate. Like a king with only a pawn left, still futilely moving across the board, running from an end that was going to catch up with him either way.

Ivar did like a challenge, but what he'd have liked more right now would have been a love confession, or maybe another round of sex.

What was it the priest was afraid of? He'd already given in to anything, everything. His body, his mind, his sword. He belonged to Ivar and Ivar belonged to him, more irrevocably than a person could belong to anyone. Ivar belonged more to the priest than he belonged to the gods. And Heahmund, he did not belong to his god any longer, or to his king. Not for a long time. Or maybe, for all Ivar cared, he could belong to his god, if he wanted, as long as he belonged to him too.

*

"I'm not lonely anymore." Ivar said. "Do you know why that is, bishop?"

The title rubbed him the wrong way, charring in it's wrongness. He could not fathom what Ivar meant by it. "I couldn't begin to guess why." Heahmund drawled.

"I think you have a very good idea as to why." Ivar grinned.

"I think you can not rely your own happiness on one person. We talked about ridiculously high expectations."

"It is true, I have always had very high expectations when it comes to you. Although, not higher than those you had on yourself. I'm changing now, I think. I have different expectations for you now."

"And what would that be?"

"For you to be happy." Ivar smiled a little impish smile filled with warmth.

"Is that right?" Heahmund replied, voice unsure, taken off guard.

"Yes," Ivar agreed. "I know they're high expectations, but I think if you try hard, you'll be able to fulfill them. You make me have higher expectations for myself too."

"Yes?"

"I want to try and be that better king you think I can be. Not for them. For you. There's no commitment I'm not willing to make for you, you know that."

"What do you mean, Ivar?"

"In how many ways do you want me to tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"We spoke of worship, once, of devotion. It does not become any less true because you refuse to say it. You belong here now, Heahmund."

"You aren't even sure you belong here yourself."

"Hm, yes, but I will find out, and if it doesn't work out, I'll find another place that'll suit me better. But let me rephrase it, priest. I belong with you. And you belong with me. I suit you better than anything else will ever do. And you can be a priest of your Christian god. And no one will touch upon that. Be who you want to be. But truly be that." More insistently now. "Not who you think you have to be. I will try the same."

"I'm glad you found your way." For a blink of an eye, a small rueful smile speaking of regret. "But there is no place for me, here. You know that."

"For the love of all the gods, your Christian one included!" Ivar exclaimed exasperated, raising his eyes skywards. "I thought we were fucking past that."

"Ivar..." Heahmund started, like he actually had a point to make.

Ivar huffed in irritation. "What is it, priest? Are you afraid someone's going to stab you in the back, as you pray, like Athelstan? Really?"

"No. But just as you, I have to find my way."

"I hate to break it to you, but you already did. More precisely, I think I found it for you."

"We can't always have what we want."

"Why the fuck not?" Ivar asked with more irritation and genuine bafflement.

"The world is not that simple."

"Why is everything about you always so damn tragic, priest?" Ivar asked with a fond but exasperated smile. "And there I'd thought I was the most tragic creature."

"Didn't you say Magnus?" Heahmund said with a weak smile.

Ivar snorted and shook his head. "Fuck those in England." he said with conviction. "You said your god forgives, Heahmund. So do I. Isn't it enough that he and I love you?"

"What am I supposed to say to that, Ivar?" Heahmund asked, his voice a mixture between yearning and defeat. But not the bad kind of defeat, Ivar knew it for what it was.

He smiled at the priest. "That you want to belong to me."

And the priest returned his smile. Sly. Amused. Already plotting his next move in this new game they were playing. Yes, it wasn't that kind of defeat.

***

I got a feeling that danger is coming, danger is coming  
And I got a feeling, I got a feeling,  
The war has been won here, the war has been won here  
So take me in your arms, take me for all I have

(Sia - One million bullets)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I can do this." I said to myself, holding a plush sheep to my chest for moral support. "I won't be too afraid to post a sex scene." xD
> 
> Sooo, it's pretty much done. The last chapter will be an epilogue of sorts, pretty much just filled with fluff and some more closure.


	22. The ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of closing loops in Wessex and then the same Heavar running gag all over again.^^ But, well, I enjoyed myself.
> 
> Also, I can't begin to describe how much I love each and everyone who accompanied me on this journey! <3 <3 <3 While writing the story for about half a year was a journey in itself, posting it and receiving your comments and thoughts, feeling how you guys got emotionally involved in the storyline and the characters, and watching how you experienced the story unfolding and your reactions to everything I'd planned, it was absolutely magical, and I want to thank all of you! ^.^ <3

But now I've seen it through  
And now I know the truth  
That anything could happen  
Anything could happen  
Anything could happen  
Anything could

(Ellie Goulding - Anything could happen)

***

WESSEX

"It could be a trap." Harald said, fingers tapping tensely against his axe.

"I'm not worried." Magnus replied, patting Harald on the chest. "Not with my strong, terrible Viking warriors all around. Cheer up, Harald. Peace treaties are a nice thing. It'll make me popular."

Harald grumbled something unintelligible, then turned around scrutinizing the room. "You grew up in this castle, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Want to show me where you found Ecbert's corpse?"

Magnus smiled. "Yes."

*

"I have something I thought you might like," Alfred said.

Magnus took the offered object, unwrapping the silk sheet around it. In his hands was the crown of Mercia. He stared at Alfred, for once, or actually rather more often lately, taken off guard. "What will people at court say to that?"

"Oh, they aren't happy." Alfred said with a self-ironic smile. "You were right, trying to be a king and make people happy is an unrealistic assumption. They don't like me. They won't like me, no matter what I do. But just like Ecbert before me, I've show that I'm strong enough to do what I want. So, just like him, I'll do what I want."

"And what are you going to do?"

Alfred smirked wryly. "Have Mass held in English. Build some schools." His smile grew. "We'll see. There are lots of things I want to do. And I'm no longer going to wait for people to be ready for it."

"That, for once, sounds like a realistic plan." Magnus approved.

"I see King Harald is still with you." Alfred said, an approving smile of his own dancing at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes. Yes, he is."

*

Aethelred and Magnus met at Aethelwulf's grave. Aethelred stopped in track, as he noticed the other, staring at him in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" Aethelred asked.

"What does it look like?" Magnus replied mildly.

Aethelred made a irritated noise in the back of his throat, but came to stand beside Magnus anyway.

"I loved him too, you know." Magnus now said.

"I know." Aethelred replied, a breath expelled in something like defeat. "I know you loved him as much as I did. He loved you too. As much as he did me and Alfred."

Magnus gave a grim, pained smile. "Yeah." It was somewhere between a question and a statement.

Aethelred set out to say something several times, but stop each time, mouth pursed in irritation. "I don't know what to say to you." he finally said.

Magnus gave faint wry smile. "I think you know exactly what you want to say to me."

"Alfred's forgiven you, I haven't."

"Yes." Magnus nodded.

"Did you..." Aethelred shook his head in irritation. "Did you ever, like, hesitate for a moment, before you betrayed us?" he asked now, hesitantly almost, helpless.

"Did you hesitate before you sent me into the camp of our enemies where I might have very likely been killed?" Magnus asked, not really with accusation, leniently, more like a reminder.

"You offered." Aethelred replied in a weak attempt of justification.

Magnus nodded. "Nevertheless, Harald or Ivar could have killed me the second I set foot into the camp." Magnus laughed. "Relax, Aethelred. I'm not mad. Not at you. Not anymore. I can live with your hate. If I deserve it, well, that's for you to decide."

*

"Bjorn," Torvi pulled him to the side, a wistful smile on her face. "Lagertha is returning to the settlement, now that Ivar is gone and things with Magnus are settled. Ubbe and I, we are going with her."

"I see."

"We do not believe in the Christian god." Torvi said. "I do not wish to live here at court. I do not want my children to grow up here, our children. In the settlement we can live with our ways."

Bjorn smiled. "You do not have to explain to me. I was the one who steadfastly refused to assimilate."

"You should come with us, Bjorn." Torvi urged. "What do you want here, among strangers?" She smiled. "I know you, Bjorn Ironside. How long will you be able to fit in? We are among strangers here. Even we, who've accepted their religion, we do not belong. I do not feel at home here. And I don't think you do either. Yes, Alfred and his brother are our friends. But otherwise we are friendless at this Christian court. I do not wish to live among strangers, when I could live among family. Will you return with us, Bjorn?"

*

"My mother has moved to the settlement. Permanently. Torvi and the children have gone with her." 

"And you, Bjorn?" Aethelred asked.

"I think I'd rather fight."

"Back in Norway?"

"No. Here in England is fine. Who knows, my uncle Rollo is ambitious, maybe we'll battle the Frankians in the future. You and me." Bjorn smiled. "Besides, we have to look after Alfred, don't we?"

Aethelred smiled as well. "Yes, we do." 

Bjorn met Aethelred's gaze, smiling impishly. "Also, I'm not less brave than Athelstan. He lived among strangers, for Ragnar. I can do the same."

Aethelred looked down from the battlements of the castle, then shook his head irritaded. "No." He turned to Bjorn. "You fought with us, you protected these lands. You are not a stranger, here. This is your home now."

*

"What are your plans?" Bjorn asked, as they lay in bed at night. "Now that the war is over."

"There'll always be someone to fight." Aethelred replied, lifting his head from where it'd been pillowed on his arms. "What about you? What is it you seek, now, other than the next fight?" A wry smile. "Conquest? Travel?"

"Travel... maybe." Bjorn pursed his mouth contemplatively. "Would you come with me?" He threaded his fingers into Aethelred's.

"I don't know." Aethelred turned on his back, pushing himself up on his elbows to come face to face with the expectant and hopeful face of Bjorn. Bjorn wasn't easy to read, his face seldom gave anything away. Not the mask of indifference and calculation Ecbert had had, no, Bjorn mostly looked like he wasn't thinking about anything too much. But Aethelred had both learned that wasn't true, and to read what little he gave away. "I don't know if I could." Aethelred admitted hesitantly.

"Why not?" Bjorn's arms were bracing him on either side, questioning eyes looking down at him.

"I cannot leave my brother."

"He doesn't always need you. You can leave if you want. It's not forever."

An inner battle went through Aethelred, his face twisting in it's wake. "It wouldn't be like your travels before. If, I could only travel as an official royal envoy."

"Whatever."

"Where would we even go?" Aethelred felt faint and overwhelmed with possibility.

"Where do you want to go?" Bjorn smiled.

*

Judith measured him from head to heel. "I asked you get close to Alfred. But it seems you've gotten close to my other son. Much closer than I anticipated."

Bjorn raised both eyebrows in an expression that seemed too lazy to even bother with the pretense of shock or worry. "Don't make any trouble for him." It wasn't a plea, it was an order, maybe even a threat.

She snorted. He liked her, he realised. As a mother she was awful, but as a woman... He thought, of all the Christian women, he liked her best. "He's my son. Do you think I'd do him such damage?"

Bjorn shrugged. "I don't know you well enough to answer that."

"Do you love him?" she then asked, surprising him.

"Of course I do." Bjorn replied, the words coming easy.

"Huh." There was something remotely like a smile on her face, now. Then her expression turned grave, determined. She lifted her hair, showing him her ear. "They did that to me because of Athelstan. They'll do worse to him because of you."

"Alfred would never let them."

"No. No, he wouldn't. But it would damage Aethelred's name beyond repair."

"No offense, lady, but I doubt we're the only men fucking each other, among your nobles."

She nodded. "And just like you, they're not as subtle as they think. Keep it quiet. Keep it behind closed doors. Should anything happen to Alfred..."

"Should anything happen to Alfred, I'm taking Aethelred back to Norway."

"I'm not so sure he'd come with you."

"You have my word on it, if need be, I'll tie him up and throw him onto a boat."

She nodded, smiling in genuine amusement, even as her eyes were still digging into Bjorn like the claws of a hawk. "I'll take your word."

*

"What do you think Ivar is doing?" Aethelred asked.

"You worry about Ivar?" Bjorn asked amused.

"No. I just wonder. Did you know Bishop Heahmund survived?"

"Yes, Alfred mentioned it once."

"Did you tell your mother?"

"No. I don't know if she would be happy or angry."

"I wonder what he's doing, back in Kattegat." Aethelred said pensively. "I couldn't imagine, living among your people, all by myself."

Bjorn smirked. "Sometimes it's worth it. But I wonder too, if that man finally found peace. If Ivar found something like peace. I think he must have. Otherwise we'd have already had word of him stirring up shit somewhere else."

*

"I just got word," Alfred said. "That seemingly your uncle Rollo and the Frankian troops attacked Kattegat."

"What happened?!" Bjorn asked.

"They were defeated. I have an eyewitness statement, saying that much of the city was destroyed, but Ivar seems to have gotten through it unharmed, since a counter attack against Rollo's remaining troops was led, a couple of days later. Rollo has only now returned to Frankia."

"I guess we don't have to expect any attacks by Ivar any time soon." Aethelred commented.

"Yes," Bjorn agreed. "I'll guess he's busy rebuilding the city."

*  
KATTEGAT

"Come on, priest. Please." Ivar snuggled up to Heahmund, trying to look endearing which was probably diminished by his erection pressing against Heahmund's backside.

"Ivar." Heahmund said scathingly. "It's nice that you found a new toy. Go play with it somewhere by yourself."

Ivar bit his ear. "But you are my new toy."

"And don't I know it." Heahmund muttered under his breath.

"Come on." Ivar murmured into his ear, undeterred. "You like it."

Heahmund actually turned around now, regarding him with all of the stern dignity of a prince of the church. "While that generally speaking might be true, I am sore." he stated succinctly. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Ivar, don't grin like that. That's nothing to be proud of."

"Alright, priest." Ivar replied, still grinning, kissing him on the cheek.

Heahmund jabbed him in the side.

"I'll be more careful with you, priest."

"In this case it has actually a lot less to do with carefulness than with frequency." Heahmund explained deadpan, touching his head as if on an impending headache.

"Poor Heahmund," Ivar cooed. "I'm just so exceptionally virile..."

"Why did I agree to this?.. Freely and of sound mind. Well, questionably sound mind."

"Because you could not deny your hunger for me any longer." Ivar grinned broadly, then kissed him. "Don't worry, priest, I hunger for you too."

"You don't say." He patted Ivar on the cheek. Then murmured, "It's a little more difficult than that, isn't it?"

"I love you, priest." Ivar said fondly, nuzzling his nose. "You can be secure of my affection. You can trust in me. You will always stand first among my men."

Heahmund could not fathom how this had gone from him denying Ivar sex to a conversation that made his throat feel tight and reminded him why exactly he was still here and had made no attempts to flee.

*  
WESSEX

Aethelred wondered, not just about Ivar, about Bishop Heahmund, too. Had he found peace? If Aethelred had found peace, surely Heahmund deserved the same, he could concede that much by now. But what peace could there be for him, among those heathens?

*  
KATTEGAT

Ivar woke up to Heahmund lying dusty and still half-clad on top of the covers, deep asleep.

He quietly crawled out into the main room. Freydis was already awake, nursing Baldur.

"When did he get back?" Ivar asked her. Chances were she'd been awake then too.

"Sometime, early in the morning. It went fine he said."

Ivar crawled back into bed beside Heahmund, draping the covers over him, only to then resume to coo 'priest' at him and rub his nose over his back and into his hair. This went on for a while.

"Ivar." Heahmund said drowsily, without opening his eyes. "That bothers people who are trying to sleep."

*

Heahmund stood and watched Ivar play with his son. Ivar watching with rapt attention as Baldur started to crawl for the first time, tenaciously dragging himself forward. There was unadulterated pride on Ivar's face in that moment.

And Heahmund wondered what this boy would grow up to be, with anticipation and not a small degree of worry, worry for all the lands that would have to bear the brunt of this one' coming into his own and following in his father's footsteps. And what kind of footsteps they were, too large for any man to follow in them.

Heahmund wondered too, about the strange and wonderful ways in which the Lord directed all their paths. A path that had him find this... family, here. Was he still a priest? A believer, maybe, not a priest. But maybe that could be enough. There was no leaving here, that much was for sure. Maybe he could be selfish for a change with a seeing eye, for once without guilt but with conviction.

Freydis had stepped beside him, a while ago, also regarding her child with a soft smile. "Talk to your god," she now said to Heahmund, without taking her eyes of Baldur. "He'll listen."

Heahmund looked at her in surprise. "What would you know about my god?"

"I know about all the gods." she simply replied.

*  
WESSEX

How peaceful everything had become again, like a storm moving across a field and leaving as it came, Plegmund thought. Much was still to do, and things with Alfred and him did not always go smoothly, but the destructive storm that had been Ivar Lothbrok, had passed them as sudden as it had come. And Plegmund thought of Bishop Heahmund, who he'd only recently learned, was still alive. He'd once scoffed that the man should have better stayed amongst these heathens. Now he felt guilty for those words. I was a fate you would wish on no one. That he was still alive was a miracle in itself, however he'd managed to do so.

*  
KATTEGAT

"Come now, priest, I wasted too many years not fucking anybody."

"Ivar." Heahmund appealed long-suffering. "I'm tired."

"I'm sure that's not what you told Lagertha." came the petulant reply.

"I swear to God, Ivar." Heahmund's voice cut like a knife all of a sudden. "Baldur spent all of last night crying. And while you slept like a stone, me and Freydis had to take care of him. So you have two minutes to silently vacate this bed."

"Alright, alright, priest." Ivar placated, demurely all of a sudden, not really willing to bear the brunt of the priest's sleep-deprived rage.

"Silently." it hissed from beneath the blankets.

*

"Tell me you love me, priest."

Heahmund smiled leniently, a little amused. "I love you, Ivar."

Ivar looked at him, slightly incredulous. "You squirmed and moaned and tried to wriggle out of this, till the last, and now it's just that easy for you?"

Heahmund smiled in self-irony. "It's called giving up."

"You make me sound horrible."

"You are horrible, Ivar."

"I saved you." Slightly petulant, although only for play.

"That you did."

"And you love me." Smug now.

"That I do."

"I love you too."

"Oh, I know."

"I don't say that to just anyone."

"I'm in awe." Heahmund replied, clearly not in awe.

"I think I liked you better..." Ivar started miffed, then paused. "No, I still like you better than anyone else."

They were past the point of awe, at a place of implicit trust, and still they never would be past the point of awe, for the other was still that one thing in the world that couldn't possibly exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the title is not a typo but refers to 'the ends justify the means'. Because we started out at a point where almost everybody was of the opinion that that's the case. And now in the last chapter, they all learned better. :D


End file.
